The Other Child
by She
Summary: What does destiny hold for the girl whose brother will be King?
1. A Guest of Tom Bombadil

**The Other Child, Part One: A Guest of Tom Bombadil**__

It had been a restless night in the House under the Hill.  Tom Bombadil stomped about on the hearthrug in his great yellow boots, pausing to trim the wick of a candle on the large oaken mantel.  In a chamber to the left, he could hear soothing words spoken by his beloved Goldberry.

"There now," she crooned to the distraught woman in her care.  "There now, it is almost finished.  You must be strong."

The sunlight had just begun to kiss the uppermost branches of the Old Forest, dappling its leaves with its first rays when the quiet morning was broken by the woman's agonized cry, followed by the shrill mewling of a baby whose life was as new as the day that dawned.

At last Goldberry emerged from her weary vigil, cradling the newborn in her tender arms.  She held it up for Tom's anxious gaze.  He grinned broadly.  "So it's a girl, then, eh?"

Goldberry drew the blanket closer round the baby and smiled.  "She's as hale and hearty as could be hoped for."

"And the woman?"

"She is exhausted but sleeps now.  I shall return the babe to her presently; she will grow hungry soon."

Tom Bombadil gently patted the tiny child on her forehead with his enormous forefinger.  "Her destiny will be great; She smiles on this tiny one."

Goldberry blessed the child with a kiss.  "She has many years to grow, Tom."

Tom sank into his huge chair by the fireside.  "Aye, so she does.  Has the mother spoken her wishes?"

Sighing, Goldberry held the baby to her shoulder.  "Yes.  She has made them very clear.  It is her son on which she has pinned her hopes; indeed, it is Aragorn's fate to lead Middle Earth from its darkening days.  Therefore, we must find this child a home.  It cannot be otherwise."

"Hmph.  I suppose not, and certainly the father is out of the question."

Goldberry chided her husband gently.  "His identity is not clear to us, Tom."

"Isn't it?  She has not been so long away from Rivendell.  And she has his eyes," he added, nodding at the little girl.

"It would explain a great many things," agreed Goldberry.  "Yet she will not speak his name.  She will bear the shame just as she bore this child, in secrecy."

"Let us then help her as we can with her burden."

"We could keep her here, my love," began Goldberry.

Tom shook his head.  "It would not be wise to do so.  But I suppose we must, until we find her a more suitable home.  The woman will return to her people in Eriador soon?"

"Yes.  She means to leave as soon as she is able."

Their conversation was interrupted by a hearty sob from the baby.  "I will take her in now, to her mother."

Tom sat in deep thought for a long time, feeling in his heart great sorrow for Gilraen the Fair, who at that moment nursed her newborn child.

Next: **_A New Home_**


	2. A New Father

**The Other Child:  A New Home**

_*Please note:  I paraphrase a few of Tolkien's words here, when Radagast meets Gandalf  (from **Fellowship of the Ring - The Council of Elrond**)_

Radagast the Brown wiped his brow.  He preferred the crispness of autumn to the damned muggy summer weather.  It was unusually hot for Midsummer.  As he sat by the roadside his horse grazed peacefully beside him.  He was weary of traveling, having been on the dusty road for some time.

Suddenly he heard the steady clip-clop of a horse's hooves coming down the Greenway from the west.  He paused and wondered if he should get off the road.  Sniffing the air, he was relieved that the beast did not carry the scent of the Mordor horses he had narrowly avoided on his ride north from Isengard.  The starlings had warned him of their proximity.  It did not bode well and disturbed him.  Considering the message he bore from Orthanc, something dreadful was afoot.  

He decided to remain near the road and was glad he did as the horse and rider came into view.  He could not believe his good fortune - it was Gandalf the Grey galloping towards him!  As he had been sent to look for the wizard, he hailed him with delight. "Ho, Olorin! Well met indeed!"

Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise.  "Aiwendil, hail!" he returned and dismounted. 

Radagast clapped him on his shoulder.  "A star shines on our meeting, my friend, for I have been sent to seek you in a land called Shire.  But I have not tread this road for many a year and find myself a stranger to it."

Gandalf smiled.  "_The_ Shire, if you please, and you are near its borders.  Yet why do you seek me?  It must be pressing, for you are not one to travel except in great need."

"Aye, the need is great for it is evil news that I bear." He looked about nervously before continuing in a whisper.  "Nazgul are abroad once more, Gandalf.  They have assumed the guise of black riders and have crossed the Great River, traveling with much speed and secrecy."

Gandalf's eyes opened wide; he shook his head in disbelief.  "Speak plain, Radagast.  How came you to know such dreadful news?"

"The enemy's purpose is unclear; I do not know why he looks to this distant corner of the world.  But I have been told by my starlings that wherever the Nine ride they ask for news of Shire."

"_The_ Shire," repeated Gandalf weakly.  It was evident that he was deeply troubled by the news.  "Who sent you to seek me, Radagast?"

"Saruman the White," replied the other wizard.  "He told me to say that he will help, but you must seek his aid immediately, before it is too late."

Gandalf nodded.  He agreed to go as Radagast directed.

"Then you must go _now_, Gandalf, for I have wasted much precious time in seeking you.  It is Midsummer and you may not reach Orthanc before the Nine discover this Shire."  So saying he mounted his steed.  "I shall turn back at once."

"We shall need all the help we can muster, my friend," said Gandalf, laying a hand on the horse's muzzle to stay the eager wizard.  "Send messages to your comrades - tell the beasts and birds to bring news of this matter to me at Orthanc."

"I shall do so," replied Radagast, who turned and rode off as if the Nine were trailing him.  He led his steed up the Greenway, intending to ride directly to the Great East Road and his lodging in Mirkwood when he was struck by an idea.  Gandalf had said to alert his comrades.  He was near to the country of Tom Bombadil, his friend of old.  They had not met for many years but Tom always had much to say.  He decided he would pay a long overdue call to the House under the Hill.  Bombadil, despite his confinement to his own corner of Eriador, had a vast knowledge of the lay and lore of Middle Earth.  It was high time for Radagast to discuss current events with him; perhaps he would be more helpful than the head of his own Order had been.  On his recent visit to Isengard, Radagast found Saruman to be unusually tight-lipped about the signs of the times, mentioning only that the Riders were abroad and that Gandalf, the more capable wizard, be summoned.  Radagast was well aware that Saruman regarded him as a lesser Istari, just as he had always considered the wizard's affiliation with the natural world of little importance.  He had no idea, smiled Radagast grimly as he followed the Greenway north.  

Evening was falling by the time Radagast reached the edge of the Old Forest, with the Barrow-downs stretching their long fingers towards the east.  With relief he discerned the twinkling lights of Tom's home.  He longed for a light supper and a warm bed; he knew he would find both at the House under the Hill.

Radagast awoke refreshed and well rested.  He found the mistress of the house in the kitchen, boiling water for her fragrant tea.  The table was set with sweet honey, freshly baked scones and his favorite blackberry jam.  He tucked in, much to Goldberry's delight and inquired as to the master of the house.  Goldberry poured his tea and said that Tom had errands to run at the Withywindle.  "My lilies, you know," she smiled.  

Radagast remembered well.  It was Tom's custom to bring as many water lilies as he could carry to his beloved Goldberry.  

He decided to wait for Tom in the sunny courtyard, where hollyhocks grew high along the garden walls and daisies bobbed their white heads beside great spikes of colorful snapdragons.  He took out his pipe and filled it with some of his favorite Old Toby, then lit it while surveying the fruits of Goldberry's horticultural labors.

Suddenly Radagast started.  Staring at him from across the garden was a small girl.  The hollyhock behind which she was hiding towered over her head.  Her hair was the color of golden honey and caught the afternoon sunlight in its curls.  Her eyes were a light grey, almost silver, and were round as saucers as she regarded him steadily.

Radagast grinned and held out his arms.  "Hello, little one.  Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

The girl took several tentative steps in his direction but seemed reluctant to leave the safety of the hollyhocks.  She played with several of the lower blossoms as she continued to stare at Radagast.  "Your beard is grey," she declared in a soft, small voice.

He smiled encouragingly.  "Yes.  Yes, it is."  He did not have much experience with children but he understood the young of Middle Earth's creatures.  He sensed that he should treat the youngster with the same gentle manner as he would a fawn or a colt.  

The girl looked down at the paving stones, tracing one with the toe of her slipper.  "Tom's beard is brown, almost black, really." 

The wizard was surprised that she used Bombadil's first name.  "You mean your Daddy?"

For the first time the child smiled at him, reminding him of bright sunlight on clear water.  "He's not my Daddy, he's Tom."  She laughed a little then looked at him curiously.  "Are you _his _Daddy?"

It was Radagast's turn to laugh.  "Heavens no, I'm certainly not!"

She pushed past the flowers and sidled up to the stone bench.  When Radagast patted it she slowly climbed up, then dangled her tiny legs and studied her shoes.  She gave him a shy, sideways glance.  "Then how do you know him?"

Radagast sighed and placed his hands on his knees.  "Well, now, that's quite a long story, isn't it?  We come from the same place you see, in the West, although Tom is older than I."

She looked puzzled and stared at him again. "Then why is your beard grey?"

Radagast laughed again.  "Not everything is obvious to the eye, little one.  What is your name?"

She lifted her chin and looked into his brown eyes.  "Rebecca," she said simply.  "What is your name?"

He bowed his head slightly.  "I have many names, but you can call me Radagast the Brown.  Or Radagast for short.  It's my favorite."

The girl looked at him, puzzled.  "Why the Brown?  You are grey!"

"Only my beard, little one!  I am wearing brown, you see."

"Oh.  I see. Is brown your favorite?"

"Brown is mine, you might say.  I have other friends who are grey and white and sea-blue, too."

"Oh.  I like blue best of all," she confided seriously.

"Yes, blue is a very nice color," he agreed.

"You've never been here before," she stated firmly.

"Not while you have been here, perhaps, but there was a time when I spent many years in the House under the Hill."

This interested her.  "Really?  Why don't you come more often, then?"

He reflected for a moment.  "Well, I suppose I have so many things to do.  When I first came to Middle Earth I lived here with Tom and his Goldberry.  He taught me many things."

She bounced slightly.  "Me too!  He's taught me how to speak to birds, and how to tell the flowers apart, and how to take care of Fatty Lumpkin.  I like him best of all!  He even lets me ride him, but I can't go past the Downs.  They are frightening."

"Yes, they certainly are," agreed Radagast.  He looked up to find Tom smiling at them from the doorway.  "Ah, Tom!  Good morning!"

"And a very good morning to you, my brown friend.  I see you've met my ward."

"Ah, yes indeed.  She was telling me about her pony."

"Good, good.  Little one, Goldberry needs you - so off you go!"

The little girl scooted off the bench and made a little curtsey to Radagast.  "Good day, Mister Brown."

"Radagast, little Rebecca!"

She nodded and skipped off.  Tom waited until she was inside the house, and then took her place on the bench.  "Lovely child, isn't she, Aiwendil?" he said with a smile

"Indeed.  She seems quite at home in your garden, Iarwain Ben-adar."

Tom sighed and lit his pipe, his bright yellow boots stretched before him.  He offered his bag of tobacco to Radagast, who took a pinch for his own long-stemmed pipe.  "Yes, she is comfortable here.  But she cannot stay much longer."

Radagast raised his eyebrows.  "Why is that?"

Tom puffed on his pipe, regarding the wizard steadily for several long moments.  At last he said, "Because it is not wise.  She must not hide here.  Her place is in the bigger world; she must learn of it."

"She's rather young for such learning, it seems to me."

Tom clapped the wizard on his shoulder.  "Not alone, of course.  She will go with you."

Radagast choked on his inhalation, emitting smoke like a dragon.  "With _me_?  What do you mean, with me?"

Tom shrugged.  "It is her destiny, my friend.  You are the master of bird lore and the ways of the trees and beasts.  She will need to know these things."

"But what of her mother and father?  Don't they take concern as to where she is?  Surely they would not approve of her tramping about with a clumsy wizard!"

Tom lowered his brows in an uncharacteristic scowl.  "She is an orphan, Radagast."

Radagast shook his head and rose from the bench to pace.  It was his customary response to news he did not find to his liking.  "You must be sensible, Tom.  I am a vagabond.  I sleep beneath the stars and forest boughs, unless I am at home in Mirkwood.  That is no life for a young child."

"She will not be a young child much longer, Radagast.  She has an important role to play; she will be a great Healer, it is her destiny.  My service to her is at its end, for the moment.  It is in your hands now, to teach her the ways of Middle Earth, of its creatures and its herbs.  This girl is entwined with your mission, Aiwendil."

Radagast snorted.  "Saruman says I have already failed in that mission."

"Then he knows not the plans of Yavanna and heard nothing at our council with Manwe," returned Tom harshly.  "Do not speak to me of Curunir who plots in his tower of Orthanc, for I do not trust him."

Radagast felt a pang as he considered his errand to Gandalf, yet what was done was done.  He was none too sure he shared Tom's skepticism about the leader of his Order.

"Your mission lies beyond these darkening days," continued Tom. "It is in the days that follow, in the time of healing, that _our _work begins, Aiwendil.  So it was ordained in council long ago, by Manwe himself."

He reached into his vest and withdrew something that glittered on a small chain.  "This was given to me in the West, before we came to these shores, by our lady Yavanna. Aule himself forged it in fairer days and it was given into my keeping until such time as it may come to use.  It is to be given to your young charge upon the fall of the Dark One.  You will know the sign when it comes."

Radagast was silent for many moments.  At last he sighed deeply and shrugged, taking the medallion and pocketing it in his robe.  "Very well, I will take the child, though I do not know her ways or how to impart mine to her. But now, my friend, we must discuss the Black Riders…"

**_Next:  Child of Nature_**


	3. Into the Woods

**The Other Child:  Into the Woods**

Radagast passed a pleasant week in the House under the Hill, spending a great deal of time with Rebecca when he was not discussing serious matters with Tom Bombadil.  Rebecca did not like this; their faces were as long as their discussions.  She was happier when they smiled and let her listen while they talked about the West and badgers and something called "ents."

One sunny afternoon Radagast sat on the stone bench in the garden while Rebecca named the flowers for him.  "These are nasturtium and those are hollyhocks and these are bluebells," she said proudly, pointing to a large cushion of tiny flowers.

"Ah yes, those grow in the forest near my home."

"Is your home far away, Uncle?" she asked, calling him by the name he had encouraged her to use with him.

"Not so very far but far enough.  Would you like to visit it?"

She clapped her small hands together and leaned on his knee.  "Oh, yes, I'd like that very much!  I've never been to your forest, only the old one near the House under the Hill."

He patted her head fondly.  "We shall make that trip on the morrow, Rebecca."

Her eyes opened wide.  "Really?  Promise?"

The old wizard smiled indulgently.  "I promise."

"With Tom and Goldberry, too?"

Radagast braced himself.  "No, Rebecca, Tom and Goldberry must stay here."

A cloud passed across her face.  "Why?"

"Well, because they must.  Someone needs to take care of Fatty Lumpkin."

"Oh." She became quite serious.  "I see.  Yes, they must take good care of Fatty."

"Then you and I will have an adventure, shall we?"

Rebecca nodded and clung to his knee.  "Yes, let's."

The next morning was bright and sunny.  Rebecca held a small bundle of her clothes and a doll that Goldberry had packed for her.  She clung to it looking little and lost as she said farewell to the only family she had ever known.

There was a tear in Tom's eye as he lifted her upon the horse in front of Radagast.  "You be good and mind, now, little one," he said as he affectionately pulled at her shoe.

She nodded.  "I will, Tom.  And you take care of Goldberry and my Fatty Lumpkin."

Goldberry blew her a kiss then took Tom's arm as they waved goodbye.  She wept a little as she watched the pair ride off towards the Great East Road.  

"There, now, love," soothed Tom as he squeezed her shoulders.  "We've not seen the last of her, you know.  She'll be back, when it is time."

Rebecca sat in front of Radagast on a very tall horse.  She felt lonely for a time after departing from the House under the Hill, but soon the sights began to intrigue her.  The Barrow-downs did not look so awful in the light of day, dotted with strange rocks that stood in circles or single fingers poking towards the sky.

They passed through the little town of Bree.  Rebecca hoped for a glimpse of the Prancing Pony and its merry keeper, Barliman Butterbur.  Tom had taken her there from time to time and she liked the harried Butterbur.  "Are we not to stop, Uncle?" she asked as Radagast spurred the horse into a light trot.

"So early on our road?  Nay, little one, we shall ride through.  I think it wiser."  Radagast and Tom had agreed that they would keep to themselves as much as possible; it would not do for some to know that he had taken a ward whose heritage was a point of great interest.  

Soon they were on a road, smooth and wide, that led into the east.  Tall drifts of summer flowers swayed in the breeze on either side of it.  To the north a line of hills bared their shoulders to the sun.  The largest had a flattened conical top.  

"That is Weathertop.  At its summit are the ruins of Amon Sûl."

"What was Amon Sûl, Uncle?" she asked, squinting as she tried, without success, to catch a glimpse of the ruins.

"A great watchtower.  It is said that Elendil waited there for the coming of Gil-galad out of the West."

"Who was Gil-galad?" piped the insistent little voice. 

Radagast laughed softly.  So many questions, but they were to be expected; it was his job to answer them as best as he could.  "Gil-galad was an Elven king, and a great one.  He fought beside Elendil in the Last Alliance.  But these are tales for another time, and not for the open road."

They rode for many miles and Rebecca found herself sleeping through parts of it.  They stopped for the night near the banks of a great river, beside a lovely bridge. "The Mitheithel," Radagast explained as they supped on delicacies from Goldberry's larder.  

"And what are those woods, to the north?"

"They are part of the Angle of Rhudaur, but the Trollshaws have been infested by trolls for many an age.  We will not visit there."

She looked to the east, where the craggy tops of great mountains could be seen.  "Oh!  Those are the Misty Mountains!"

"I'm glad to hear that Tom has taught you some geography," chuckled Radagast.  "They are indeed the Misty Mountains, or Hithaiglin to the elves.  We shall take the High Pass through them.  It is kept safe from orcs by the Beornings."

Rebecca's eyes lit like candles.  "Will we stop at the Last Homely House, Uncle?  I would dearly love to meet some elves!"

Radagast shook his head firmly.  He would enjoy dinner at Rivendell as well, but circumstances made it impossible; it was a point on which he and Tom were in full agreement.  "No, little one.  We will camp with the Beornings."

"Oh!  They make honey-cakes and change into bears!" she cried with delight. 

"Only the rare Beorning is a shapeshifter, little one.  But their honey-cakes are worth the trip."

So it was that they passed the ford and valley of Rivendell the next afternoon and came as night fell to the twilit log cabins of the Beornings at the western foothills of the Mountains.  They were well received; while the Beornings were wary of strangers, they knew Radagast, who had spent a great deal of time in their company on his travels.  They shared his love of all creatures and set an excellent table, both of which appealed greatly to the wizard.  They were charmed by his young charge and called her "little cub," pressing honey-cakes and blackberry jam upon her till she felt she would burst.  She laughed as they drank great tankards of ale and got foam in their bushy beards. At last Radagast carried her fast asleep to a bunk, then returned to speak about serious matters with his hosts.

The following day the stalwart Beornings escorted them across the High Pass.  Radagast was relieved for they saw nary an orc.  They did, however, meet Gwaihir the Windlord who spied them from his lofty aerie and descended to converse with his old friend.  He instructed the eagle to take all messages of Black Riders and their allies to Gandalf at Orthanc.  

Gwaihir nodded his noble head.  "The crows have been swayed by the Dark One, Radagast.  Promises of carrion from the battlefields, I fear.  But those of us with stout hearts and sound minds shall patrol the lands, as always."

Rebecca was entranced with the mighty eagle, who consented to letting her stroke his large brown feathers.  She craned her neck to watch him as he soared away high into the sky.

The mountain road wound this way and that; Rebecca tried not to look down as the great height made her a little dizzy and afraid.  But Radagast's horse was sure-footed and after several hours the road started to slope downwards.  In the distance Rebecca could discern the tops of many trees; they stretched for miles, as far as the eye could see.

"We are now on the Great Forest Road, little one."

At last they came to the edge of the huge wood, much bigger than the Old Forest.  Two tall trees covered with lichen leaned together, forming a living arch.  Then the trees closed in about them, yet the air did not become thick.  "The trees aren't angry here," she declared.

Radagast agreed.  "Yes, Old Man Willow has poisoned the Old Forest with malice.  Here it is different; the trees are often sad but they are kindly and gentle."

They rode on until they reached an open glade.  The afternoon sun slanted through the birch trees and threw shadows across the bluebells scattered upon the grassy carpet.  "Here we shall take some rest, little one," Radagast said as he dismounted, lifting Rebecca from the saddle and allowing the horse to graze. Rebecca watched the acrobatics of several black squirrels that played in the branches of a large oak.

They had not been long at their ease when there was a rustling noise, like a soft wind pattering through the leaves.  Of a sudden, a small group the likes of which Rebecca had never seen joined them.  "They must be elves!" she thought with excitement as she noticed their pointed ears.  She had only heard of them in Tom's tales; after they failed to stop at Rivendell she feared she'd never see any, and here was a band of them!

The elves were dressed simply in tunics and breeches.  Some wore soft pointed shoes.  The tallest of them wore supple leather boots that reached to his knees.  He was clad in green and brown, a long bow slung across his back.  He had the keenest eyes she'd ever seen and he had no beard - she had never seen a man without one.  Pale was his golden hair and he was very tall.  He was the most beautiful creature Rebecca had ever beheld and she stared openly.  He greeted Radagast warmly, embracing him with a "Mae govannen, Aiwendil!"

Radagast clapped him on the shoulder and nodded a greeting to the other elves in the party.  Rebecca hung back, shy and uncertain, patting their horse's soft muzzle.  The tallest elf turned his bright eyes on her and grinned broadly.  "And who is your traveling companion, my friend?"  
Radagast beamed.  "This is my ward, Rebecca.  Rebecca, this is Legolas, prince and heir to the throne of Mirkwood."

Legolas bowed low.  "It is an honor to meet you, little one."

Rebecca felt her cheeks burning.  She did the smallest of curtseys, still clinging to their horse.

Legolas introduced his kinsmen, five in all.  One was a very beautiful lady elf, who had silvery hair and smiled at Rebecca, but it was a cold one and very brief.  Rebecca studied her own shoes, feeling odd and somewhat insulted although she could not think why.

"And where do you travel with your company, Legolas?" asked Radagast.

Legolas sighed, his fair countenance darkening.  "We have dire news, Radagast.  I am sent as emissary to meet with Elrond in Imladris.  My father seeks his counsel in these troubled times.  We have been beset by orcs and have had more than one bloody battle defending our shrinking kingdom.  We fear that evil is growing in the southwest, near Dol Goldur once again."  He lowered his voice and continued, "The birds speak of Nazgul - several have returned to the tower."

Radagast shivered involuntarily and shared his news from Orthanc.  

"Ai, it is so, then.  The Dark One is moving at last."

"I fear so, my prince.  Mithrandir and Curunir are meeting at this moment to discuss our defense."

"And where do you travel, Aiwendil?"

"I meant to make for my home in Rhosgobel."

The elf shook his head vehemently.  "That you must not do, my friend.  Not while the Nazgul inhabit Dol Goldur.  The vales of the Anduin are too near and the orcs range far these days."

Radagast nodded.  "Your counsel is good, Legolas.  But whither shall we travel?  I must consider the child…"

"You must go to my father in the north.  He is your friend of old and will welcome you gladly into his halls.  If you ride steadily you will be there by nightfall."

"It shall be as you suggest; thank you, my prince."

"And now we must be off, for our road is the one you have just traveled.  Fare thee well, Radagast.  Take good care of your charge!" He smiled again at Rebecca and, with a wave of his hand, vanished with his companions into the wood.  Rebecca felt sad that he had gone.

"Who is Thranduil, Uncle?" she asked as she stared after the spot where the tall elf had disappeared.  

"Thranduil is the King of the Elves in the northern part of this forest. He is a good and fair king, although his kingdom has fallen upon sad times.  It was once known as Greenwood the Great but it is now called Mirkwood."

"Why are the times sad?"

Radagast sighed.  "Dark times came to this forest when the Necromancer, the Dark One, arrived at the fortress of Dol Goldur.  He opened the door to all sorts of fell creatures.  Giant spiders, wolves, trolls, even orcs from the Misty Mountains have encroached on its western borders.  And now, the Nazgul…"

Rebecca stared, wide eyed between fright and curiosity.  "Who is the Dark One, Uncle?  What are Nazgul?"

Radagast looked down at her and frowned.  "These are not topics for the open air, sweet one.  Let us wait until we are safe in the halls of the Woodland King."

He lifted her onto the horse then mounted behind her.  They rode until nightfall; she felt safe with his strong arms on either side of her, and looked up with wonder at the great canopy of leaves that filtered the twilight.  Occasionally she saw a bright star peep through and then the new moon, a sliver of bright silver.  Soon she grew tired and dozed as the horse trotted quietly along the earthen path.  

She awoke as she heard Radagast murmur a soft "whoa." They had just crossed a wooden bridge that spanned a swiftly flowing stream.  Before them were two huge oaken doors set into the mouth of a great glittering cave.  Beech trees grew on the riverbanks and up the steep slope of the hill like endless pillars.  Seemingly from nowhere an elf appeared and smiled broadly.  "Mae govannen, Aiwendil!  You are here to see our Lord Thranduil?"

The elf took the horse while Radagast led Rebecca through the doors.  He took her small hand in his and followed another elf down a long hall lit with red torches. Rebecca could hear the sound of laughter and singing of many fair voices, lovely and full of mirth. At last they came to the great hall.  The rock was ornately carved so that the tall ceiling seemed made of the living boughs of many trees.  Soft candlelight glowed and reflected in the polished floor.  In the center of the hall sat the King on a high carven wooden throne.  He smiled as Radagast bowed before him.  Rebecca performed her very best curtsey; she'd never met a real king before.

"Hail, Thranduil, King!" spoke Radagast. 

"Well met, Aiwendil.  I welcome you back to our Woodland realm; it has been many a year since we have greeted you here."

Rebecca watched, silent and wide eyed.  The king was grave and very beautiful.  Atop his long golden hair sat a crown of berries and red leaves.  He held a carved oaken staff and was clad in silver and green.  He appeared hale and youthful, although his eyes held the secrets of many years.

He turned them upon her.  "And who is your companion, Aiwendil?"

Radagast smiled.  "This is Rebecca of the House under the Hill.  She is my ward and traveling companion."

Rebecca curtseyed again and felt very shy.  

Thranduil laughed softly.  "She is welcome here and will be treated with the honor due a ward of Aiwendil.  We have but poor fare yet you are welcome at my table.  Come, sit beside me and tell me your news of the world outside our realm."

The chamber for feasting was unlike anything Rebecca had ever seen; she imagined not even Rivendell was so grand.  There were hundreds of red torches set in the walls and a silken canopy was spread above a long table laden with food - she had never seen so much at one time.  The King took the tall seat in the center of the table.  Radagast sat on his right and Rebecca sat beside the wizard, feeling very small on her large oaken chair.  A smiling elf brought her several silken pillows to bolster her so that she was able to reach the table, just barely.  She looked shyly up and down the length of the table.  So many fair folk, all with summer flowers twined in their silvery hair.  White gems gleamed on their collars and belts and their eyes were wide and grey. None were so fair as the tall elf in the forest glade; she wished he was at the feast, too, but stopped thinking of him as she was given many delicious cakes to eat.

Several hours passed. Radagast and the King spent most of them in deep discussion over their wine. Galion, the king's butler, often refilled their goblets with Dorwinion wine, of which the King was especially fond.  Sometimes they laughed with a mirth that was wonderful to hear, but mostly they shook their heads and frowned.  Rebecca pondered what they could be so unhappy about, with such cakes and twinkling red lights. After a time Rebecca nodded her head drowsily.  The King smiled and bade Radagast to put her to bed.  Radagast carefully lifted her in his arms and, following an elf with a candle, took his leave of the King.  

They passed along several halls with many doors.  At last Radagast took the candle from their escort and entered the room he indicated, plain but comfortably furnished.  Rebecca opened her eyes and looked about with sleepy curiosity. Radagast set her on the bed; she sank into downy feathers as he gently tucked her in, pulling the blankets up to her chin.  Although her eyelids drooped, she asked in a small voice, "Who is the Dark One, Uncle?"

Radagast kissed her brow.  "Shush," he soothed.  "We will talk about him tomorrow.  You are safe here. Sleep now, little one."

As Radagast settled himself into the other bed and snuffed out the candle, Rebecca snuggled down into her blankets.  "The Dark One is a man," she mused sleepily.  "I wonder if _he_ has a beard?"  Then she thought of the tall elf prince and of cakes and candlelight under the boughs of great trees and smiled as she fell asleep.

**_Next: Child of Mirkwood_**


	4. Child of Mirkwood

**The Other Child:  Child of Mirkwood**

Rebecca ran through the halls of the Elven King of Northern Mirkwood.  Her light slippers pattered upon the flagstones as she approached the main gate.  

"Good morning, Tessel!"

The tall guard grinned and pulled open the huge oaken doors.  "Mind you be back by nightfall, young lady.  I don't wish to miss any of the feasting tonight!"

Rebecca laughed and skipped across the wooden bridge, turning and waving at the guard.  She followed a path leading up the slope, above the caverns of Thranduil's palace.  She climbed to its top and threw back her head, breathing deeply of the wind that ruffled the boughs of the beech trees below.  Black emperor butterflies danced on the breeze.  The sunny day was to her liking.  

She lay back on the grassy knoll and watched gauzy clouds drift across the blue sky.  She had come to this hilltop every morning for many months, ever since Galion, the king's butler, had taken her for a tour of the kingdom.  This was her favorite spot; from here she could see the top of the forest, the clouds, the sky, the butterflies.  She felt the pulse of life beyond the kingdom of trees and caverns; it gladdened her heart.

She had naught to complain of since taking up with Radagast the Brown and traveling from the House under the Hill.  He had taught her so much; under his tutelage she learned to speak to the birds.  There was not a feathery creature in Mirkwood with whom she could not converse.  He taught her the ways of the little black squirrels whose antics amused her to no end, and to speak softly to the stag, doe and fawn.  She learned to read the seasons and the signs of the woods, the wind, the rivers. And there was still so much to know…

He also told her, albeit reluctantly, of the fell things in the woods - giant spiders, wolves, orcs.  At last she knew the name of the Enemy and his desire to subjugate the peoples of Middle Earth.  She learned of a great quest on which Prince Legolas tarried.  She knew by the King's grave countenance that his concern for his kingdom was second only to his fears for his son.  There was some merriment and singing in the halls of Thranduil, yet there was hushed talk now of war under the eaves.  His soldiers were preparing for a great battle, and there were many messengers sent between the men of Dale, the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, the stalwart Beornings and wizened Woodmen.  The King was often in his council of war.  

Radagast, too, aided the King.  The birds brought messages of terrible struggles in the wider world. Rebecca listened to these goings on feeling very little and useless.  At such times Radagast would hug her and assure her that her time would come, then begin another lesson in the lore of Middle Earth.  He never neglected her studies, treating them with the same gravity as the councils of war.

She was so lost in thought that she did not realize Galion had joined her until she felt his long shadow fall across her upturned face.  "Oh!  Hello, Galion!"

The tall elf sat down beside her.  "Good morning, little one.  What engrosses you so much on such a sunny day?"

She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest.  "I was wondering about the Queen.  Why is she not at King Thranduil's court?"

"Well, she is with her kinsfolk in Caras Galadon."

"What is Caras Gal…?"

Galion smiled and ruffled her hair.  "Gal_adon_.  You should spend more time studying maps, little one!  It is the chief city of Lorien, the great woodland kingdom just west of the Anduin River. The Galadrim are our brethren and make their homes in mellryn."

"Mell…?"

Galion laughed.  "_Mellryn_ are the golden trees of Lorien.  You should see them, little one.  They are silver of bark with golden leaves.  The city of Caras Galadon is built on telain throughout the branches."

"Telain?"

"Great flets - platforms for dwelling.  Oh, you must see Lorien someday!  Besides Rivendell, it is the grandest realm of our kindred in Middle Earth. But I fear it is perilous to visit it now."

"Why is it so?"

Galion reclined on his elbows.  "The times are dark, little one.  In the southernmost part of our wood lies the evil Dol Goldur, of which you have heard."

Rebecca nodded.  "Radagast says it is a place of great terror."

"Indeed," he said grimly.  "Lorien lies directly west of this place, across the Anduin.  Our lord Elrond's wife was set upon by Orcs when she departed Lorien.  It has frightened our King and he has forbidden his Queen to return - the trip is far too dangerous.  War gathers, even now."

Rebecca looked up at the clouds, finding the subject of war uncanny on such a gorgeous day.  "The King's son is part of the war, isn't he?"

"Yes, Prince Legolas marches in the company of the Nine Walkers, sent out to destroy the bane of Isildur."

"That's a funny name for a ring, isn't it?"

Galion chided her.  "There is nothing funny about the matter, little one.  The fate of Middle Earth depends upon the success of their quest.  For our part, we gird ourselves for war.  The King is meeting with emissaries from the kingdom of Dale and of Erebor.  As we speak, representatives from the Beornings and the Woodmen are arriving.  We shall be embroiled in the Battle under the Trees before long."

Rebecca studied her shoes.  "I am frightened of such talk, Galion."

He patted her shoulder consolingly.  "Then come, let us speak of other things.  Have you no questions for me today?  You usually do…"

She thought for a moment then nodded seriously.  "Yes.  Why does the Queen wish to live apart from the King?"

Galion looked at her in wonder.  "This is a new branch of thought, little one!  I am accustomed to discussing the butterflies!"

Rebecca blushed.  "Is it an improper question, then?"

"No, not at all.  I will answer it for you, but it will take time.  The ways of the Eldar are not the ways of Man, you see.  To marry and share life with a beloved is customary, but the nature of this union varies as our needs and spirits grow.  For the most part we become what we are to be in our fiftieth year; until then, we are as children, albeit learned ones - our memories stir at an early age.  After our fiftieth year we may, if we so choose, become betrothed and exchange silver rings with our beloved.  This betrothal stands for one year at the least, and often for longer periods of time."

"Why must you wait that long, if marriage is what you seek?"

Galion smiled gently and patted her cheek.  "You are young, my friend, and know not the wider world.  Mistakes are often made since the marring of Arda, and the laws of my people take this into account.  In such cases the Right of Revoking is made with a public return of the rings; this law enables each party to choose wisely, for our marriages are not soluble."

Rebecca nodded, taking in his words with great consideration.  "But you have not answered my question.  Why would a husband and a wife choose to live separately?  The Queen left these caverns before the evil came to Dol Goldur, so I am told.  The war may prevent her from returning, but why would she have gone in the first place?"

"You must be patient, little one, for there is more to know.  It is customary for our folk to beget and bear their children in the earliest years of marriage.  Great joy attends this time and the family is inseparable.  After a time, however, the mind turns to other things.  The union of love is indeed a great delight and the "days of children", as we call them, remain in our memory as the merriest in life.  Nevertheless we have many other powers of body and mind which our natures urge us to fulfill."

"Thus, although we remain wedded forever we do not necessarily dwell together at all times.  Our fëar, our souls, if you will, have many paths on which to tread, yet our unions remain intact and cannot be sundered.  Such is the way of Elven marriage."

Rebecca listened, her chin on her knees and her eyes open wide.  She nodded in understanding and then blurted, "Is the Prince betrothed to the lady Dolressa?"

Galion laughed.  "You hop from subject to subject as a sparrow flits about the twigs of a tree, little one!  Yes, they have exchanged their silver rings, in Imladris before he set out on his quest."

She frowned.  "It must be terrible for her to know he walks into danger."

"Yes, that it is.  But she hopes, as we all do, Rebecca."

Rebecca nodded solemnly, then smiled as she saw her mentor climbing the hill toward them.  He moved with lumbering steps, worse than usual, Rebecca thought as he leaned heavily upon his oaken staff.  Presently he joined them.  He looked weary beyond his years and those were many. 

"Are they getting anywhere in that council, Aiwendil?" asked Galion hopefully.

"We're not getting nowhere, if you take my meaning," Radagast said with a small smile.

Galion sighed.  "It is always thus in our dealings with the other races.  The dwarves of Erebor are especially stiff-necked."

"No more so than your own king, my friend.  But come, I have journeyed to this hilltop for fresh air.  What have the birds to say today?" he asked, turning to his young ward.

"The birds seem unhappy today, Uncle, but I cannot guess why.  Galion and I have been speaking of elves and their families."

Radagast smiled and, with a groan and creaking of his knees, sat beside them on the green lawn.  "Goodness, that could be a lengthy discussion!"

Galion returned his smile.  "We were coming to the ways of wizards, Aiwendil."

Radagast shook his head.  "That's a topic hardly worth broaching."

"Nor are the traditions of badgers or butterflies, but Rebecca must discuss them all!"

Radagast laughed.  "Indeed she must, and she shall!  We should all be prepared to tell her everything about anything."

Galion grinned and rose, stretching his long legs with a sigh.  "And I must be prepared for this evening's feast, my friends.  It needs to be magnificent, to make up for our King's labors in council today."

"Aye, be sure to have the Dorwinion wine at hand, sir."

With a wave of his hand, Galion disappeared lightly down the same hill that Radagast had just ascended with such labor.

Rebecca leaned against him.  She took great comfort in the scent of him, of lingering and smoky Old Toby.  He produced and lit his pipe as they sat together.  Rebecca cheered as he blew great rings of smoke that coasted serenely upon the open air. 

"And why such an interest in the domestic relations of our starry eyed kindred, little one?"

"Oh, no reason, really," she replied, poking her index finger through the center of a smoke ring.  "I just wondered about the Queen and the Prince.  Doesn't Thranduil get lonely?"

"Well, I suppose he does at that.  But you must remember, Rebecca, the elves have a way of treasuring their memories so that each time they recall one it is as fresh to them as if they were first experiencing it."

Rebecca thought of this.  "Then why does the lady Dolressa seem so sour, if she can just close her eyes and be near the Prince?"

Radagast looked at her with surprise.  "Has Galion spoken of this with you?"

"No.  I just noticed at the feasts and when I see her in the halls.  Perhaps she does not like me; I thought so when we met her in the forest, with the Prince. She does not smile much, Uncle."

Radagast sighed and patted her curly head.  "Not all beings are cut from the same cloth, even if they are of the same race.  There are elves of mirthful disposition and there are those that are … not."

Rebecca thought about this.  "Do _I_ smile enough, Uncle?"

He laughed.  "I should say so, little one!  You may smile as often as you like!"

He paused and sniffed the air, turning this way and that.  Then he pointed to the southwest.  "But look you, to the horizon - what flies towards us with great speed?"  He stood again, with difficulty.  "Ah, it is the great Windlord, Gwaihir!"

In moments the giant bird descended in wide, spiraling loops until he came to rest on the hilltop beside them.  "Aiwendil, hail!"

"Well met, my friend.  What news do you bring from the world?"

The eagle hung his proud head.  There was sadness in his eyes and in his voice.  "I have terrible tidings, Radagast the Brown, terrible tidings.  Your comrade, Gandalf the Grey, has fallen in battle, to the balrog of Moria."

Radagast looked stunned, then ashen.  "No," he whispered.  "No, this cannot be!"

The eagle nodded solemnly.  "Aye, it is so.  We sorrow for his loss, and for all of Middle Earth."

Radagast shook his head. "We must send word to Isengard.  Surely Saruman…"

The eagle grumbled low in his throat.  "Nay, we may not look to Saruman for counsel any longer, Radagast.  He has turned in his allegiance and now aspires to the crown of Barad-dûr.  He has betrayed us all."

Radagast reeled from twice terrible news.  His hands shook as he clenched his staff, and he hung his head in grief.  "Ai, ai, all is now lost!"

Rebecca placed her small hands over his and looked up at him with concern.

He patted her head gently and sighed.  "No, perhaps all is _not_ lost, so long as we have you, little one."  He turned to Gwaihir.  "You have brought grievous tidings indeed, Windlord, yet I will know the tale in full.  Please, tell us your news and do not spare my feelings."

They sat in discussion with the eagle for an hour.  He told them of the company's arrival in Lothlorien, and of war in Gondor.  At last it was decided that Radagast return to Thranduil's council of war to bear the terrible tale.  Gwaihir agreed to patrol ever more vigilantly and to bring news, be it fair or foul, to Radagast immediately.

Rebecca helped Radagast down the hill; he leaned heavily on her although he favored his staff.  She had never known him to be so burdened, so ancient.  He bade her farewell at the entrance to the great hall wherein the council met.  As she wandered back along the passageway she reflected on how very little she actually knew about Radagast specifically and about the wider world in general.

**_Next: The Battle Under the Trees_**


	5. Battle Under the Trees

**The Other Child:  Battle Under the Trees**

Quickbeam drummed his long woody fingers upon a broken stone wall of Orthanc.  It had once encircled a beautiful garden; he felt sickened as he looked now into a blackened pit - yet another thing to be cleansed at Isengard.

He turned and watched two figures fade into the distance; Saruman and the cringing Wormtongue had almost vanished on the road from Isengard.  He shook his head.  He did not like it one bit.  There was something in the old wizard's manner that was secretive and haughty.  He stomped the earth in frustration.  Treebeard was wrong to have let Saruman go; there was harm in him still.

He surveyed the Ents' labor that morning.  They had made progress in clearing the filthy cataracts that Saruman had wrought in his careless destruction of Isengard's gardens, yet much work lay before them. He raised his eyes to the east, where restless dark clouds continued to rumble.  There was still much to win, he realized.  Loss was unacceptable, unthinkable.  Quickbeam cringed at the very idea; with a deep sigh he began to make his way towards Treebeard, who was directing the restoration of Isengard.

Many leagues to the northeast, Rebecca tossed in her bed.  Her sleep was troubled and turbulent, the sheets wound about her limbs as she tossed and turned.  A panoply of images flitted through her dreams.  She saw one old man dressed in white leaving a tall tower, and another shining with the radiance of the sun.  She saw tall trees lifting large boulders as if they were pebbles.  She saw a grey army passing through a dark tunnel; they came into the sunlight and captured a great fleet of ships, sailing them down a mighty river to a battlefield overlooked by a brilliant white city. Aboard one of the ships she saw Legolas, his eyes lit with wonder and longing as seagulls darted about the prow of his boat.  She awoke with the realization that the Prince would not return to the Woodland Realm unchanged.  

She rose and dressed quickly in a tunic and breeches; Radagast cared not what she wore and Thranduil found her "Elven lad costume" amusing.  Not that either of them gave her much thought lately, she sighed as she captured her hair into a bushy ponytail.  The days had darkened with war as skirmishes broke throughout the forest, to the north and to the south.  The folk of Lorien fought along the western border against the forces of Dol Guldur.  In the north the King and an alliance of Beornings, Woodmen, Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor fought against bands of goblin-men, wargs, trolls and orcs from the Misty Mountains.  Difficult days indeed.

Yet all the news was not dire.  Beyond hope Gandalf had not been lost in the pits of Moria; Gwaihir the Windlord had rescued him from the peak of Zirak-zigil after his victory over the balrog and bore him away, light as a feather, until his work in Middle Earth was at its end.  He was now called "Gandalf the White," replacing the traitorous Saruman in the order of the Istari, and was busy fighting in Gondor.  This news had greatly restored the spirits of the companies of the North; Rebecca had never heard Radagast laugh so merrily, and it gladdened her heart.

Thranduil's caverns were heavily guarded; Rebecca took advantage of this safety and spent a great deal of her time on the hilltop during these lonely days.  The birds were her close companions and talked of other things besides war.  Spring was coming to the woods and nests were being built.  Their songs made her smile; they reminded her of Goldberry singing on washing-day.  Suddenly Rebecca felt very homesick for the House under the Hill.  Nobody ever spoke of war there. Tom Bombadil had wanted her to see more of the world, to have adventures.  She was beginning to understand that adventures had many sides, not all of them pleasant.

Across Middle Earth, as Rebecca sat conversing with a flock of sparrows, the tall ships of Umbar arrived at the Battle of Pelennor Fields.  Aragorn's true glory was revealed as he and his comrades took the battlefield.  Great deeds were accomplished that day.  Chief among them was the defeat of the Witch-king of Angmar by Éowyn of Rohan and Meriadoc Brandybuck.  No longer would the Nazgul lord bring fear and death in his evil wake.  An eagle, Meneldor the Swift, brought this news and there was great rejoicing among the allied forces of Mirkwood, strengthening their morale and their resolve on their own battlefield under the eaves.

Later the Council of the Host of the West met to decide their course of action.  Many great lords were there assembled: Aragorn and the sons of Elrond, Éomer of the Mark, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and Gandalf the White. Under Gandalf's advisement, it was decided that they would march to the very gates of Mordor to engage the Dark Lord and buy time for the Ringbearer.  News of this reached King Thranduil on his battlefield and he feared for his son.  Rebecca did not know where Mordor was and Radagast told her about the Enemy's tower of Barad-dûr and the great mountain Orodruin, Mount Doom, wherein the ring was forged and must return to unmake the Dark Lord's power.  Rebecca took to her hilltop again and turned her eyes to the heavens, invoking Ilúvatar to speed the Quest and protect them all, especially the son of Thranduil.  

As the week progressed, the Battle under the Trees intensified; the forces of darkness poured all their might into the fighting.  Heavy losses on both sides mounted.  On her hilltop Rebecca could detect the acrid smell of blood and smoke carried on the crisp March winds; it was awful and she sought the caverns in despair.  

Radagast found Rebecca curled upon her bed, wracked with tears.  He gently roused her.  "Come, little one, let's away.  We must meet our fate with courage."

Reluctantly, Rebecca took his hand and returned with him to the hilltop.  From this lofty position they could see the smoke of the battles about the forest while far to the south dark clouds rolled and tumbled upon themselves.  Angry flashes of orange and red lit the darkness and Rebecca clung to Radagast in terror.   

Of a sudden a great white light split the sky to the south and there came a thunderous crashing.  They stared in silence and wonder, aware that something had just occurred that was shaking the very earth.  Then Rebecca spied an eagle, soaring high up in the heavens.  It spiraled above their hill but did not land, proclaiming over the treetops a message:  _"Sing all ye people, sing and rejoice! Sing all ye children of the West, for the Black Gate is broken and your enemy cast down forever!"_ It then wheeled to the west to spread its glad tidings.

Rebecca cried aloud and hugged Radagast.  The wizard smiled with grim satisfaction. Victory in the face of impossible odds.  As they stood together they heard great cheering as the forces of Mirkwood drove their foes before them.  In the north the allied forces of Elves, Men and Dwarves destroyed the armies of the Enemy.  To the south the Galadrim drove their foes into the mighty Anduin while Celeborn and Galadriel threw down the walls of Dol Guldur and cleansed its vile pits.  The allies of the Dark Lord were destroyed that day.  

As they listened to the cries of victory Radagast sat upon the ground beside Rebecca.  His knees did not creak so much as before.  "This is a day which will long be remembered in song, little one."

Rebecca leaned into him and closed her eyes, grateful that Ilúvatar had answered the prayers of Middle Earth.  

"Soon it will be finished for Gandalf, yet it has only begun for us, my love."

Rebecca looked up into his face, uncertain of his words.  "What do you mean, Uncle?"

Radagast reached into his robes and brought forth a small white gem held upon a silver chain.  It glittered in the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun.  "This is yours, Rebecca.  Shaped by the great Aulë himself, as directed by Manwë.  Long ago was your destiny foreseen and so I give this now to you."  So saying, he fastened the chain upon her slender neck.  

She gazed at it in wonder.  "But what am _I _to do, Uncle?"

Radagast pulled her to his side.  "In the fullness of time, we shall see, my love.  We shall see…"

****

**_Next: A Royal Wedding_**


	6. A Royal Wedding

**The Other Child:  A Royal Wedding **

_*Please note:  I quote a few of Tolkien's words here, from **Return of the King - Many Partings**_

It was Midsummer Eve and a soft wind stirred the trees of Minis Tirith.  A thousand stars lit the sapphire sky as King Elessar welcomed the host of Rivendell and Lorien to his kingdom.  Elrond gave to Aragorn the sceptre Annúminas and with it the hand of his only daughter, Arwen Undómiel.  They went up into the High City and enjoyed a wedding feast the likes of which Gondor had never seen, even in the days of old.

Legolas sat beside Gimli, lost in thought.  The wedding was beautiful; Arwen was lovely beyond description and he had never seen Aragorn so blissful.  Their long years of waiting were fruitful at last.  He thought about his own betrothal and he was troubled.  He loved Dolressa yet his heart ached for the Sea as it never had for her.  Could he ever be whole again?

He was shaken from his reverie by a sharp poke in his ribs from Gimli.  "Hmm?"

"I _said_ the Lady Galadriel's beauty is beyond my ability to describe."

Legolas looked down the long table at said lady and agreed with his friend.  Across the table Pippin laughed.  "Perhaps our Elf is pining for another lady tonight?"

Gimli snorted.  "More likely the Sea, if I judge rightly.  But I beg you, no more Elven Sea chants, if you please."

Legolas laughed at how well the Dwarf understood him.

Frodo did not find it amusing.  "We are, both of us longing, Legolas.  But you are fortunate in that you know your heart's desire.  Would that were true for me."

Gandalf looked over at Frodo.  "In time you will find peace, my friend."

"Perhaps.  But when and where remain a mystery to me."

"You are sorely missing the Shire, Master," suggested Sam hopefully.

Frodo smiled at his faithful companion.  "Aye, no doubt, Sam.  Soon we shall be on the road home, at last."

Pippin set down his stein of ale.  "Perhaps we may return by way of Fangorn Forest and Isengard?  I would dearly love to see Treebeard again."

"If you'd study a map, Pippin, you'd see there's no way to go _but_ through Isengard," Merry chided him.

"So, you shall visit Treebeard and I will go with you," said Gandalf, much to the delight of the hobbits.

"And we shall go, too, and visit the Forest as agreed, Gimli," added Legolas, to the displeasure of Gimli.

"Only after we see the Glittering Caves," he groused.

"A promise is a promise I shall keep, Master Dwarf!" laughed Legolas.  "And now, if you'll excuse me…" He got up and walked out of the hall, singing softly to himself.

"He goes to the Sea," Gimli remarked to Gandalf shaking his head.  "Our friend is not himself." 

"Nay, Gimli, he has just found himself and knows not what to do with the knowledge," replied Gandalf.

When the days of rejoicing were complete, the Companions prepared for their journeys home.  Aragorn joined them as far as the Gap of Rohan, stopping first in Rohan for the funeral of King Théoden and the crowning of his comrade and ally Éomer.  

Legolas kept his promise to Gimli and went with him to the Glittering Caves.  They reminded him of his father's halls but were far more breathtaking in natural beauty.  Upon their return Aragorn smiled and asked what he thought of them.

"Gimli alone can find apt words, and never before has a Dwarf claimed victory over an Elf in a contest of words.  Now let us go to Fangorn and set the score right!"*

From Deeping-coomb they rode to Isengard and marveled at the labors of the Ents.  Where once stood a stone circle and blackened pits there were gardens - great, glorious gardens with orchards, trees and a stream running through them.  A lake surrounded the tower, mirroring its image in the clear water.  Birds sang throughout the trees and fragrant drifts of many-colored wildflowers bordered all.

"Welcome to Treegarth of Orthanc!" boomed Treebeard with a good deal of _hoom-hom-_ing.  Quickbeam was with him and bowed gracefully.

They talked of their adventures and Treebeard spoke of the restoration of Isengard. "There is much to do but it is near completion.  If only we had Entings to dwell here, but there are no Entwives," he said sadly.

"I sense Radagast's hand here," remarked Gandalf on a more positive note.

Treebeard laughed.  "Indeed, you have missed your brother, Gandalf!  It was he who sang songs of growth and flow to land, stream and flower, and calmed the wrath of the Huorns."

Gandalf smiled.  "Ah, it is a shame that I missed him, but no matter.  We shall meet soon, he and I, for there is much to discuss."

"Aye, to Radagast shall fall many great deeds equal to our own," said Elrond.

"Humble in the courts of the Valar was Aiwendil, preferring the gardens of Yavanna to the mighty palaces," said Galadriel.  "Just as you, Gandalf, he never sought renown in Middle Earth; his joy is ever in the renewal of hope, the bud in spring, the harvest moon."

"Less glad am I to have missed Saruman," noted Gandalf.  "I fear he has some evil left to do in this world.  He has underestimated us, as always, yet it will be Radagast who heals the scars as best he may."

"Not alone, surely," replied Treebeard. "For his young ward is quite gifted; it was she who gathered the birds back to our gardens."

Gandalf looked at him sharply.  "Of whom do you speak, Treebeard?"

"His little ward," said Treebeard, indicating her height with his gnarled hand. "No bigger than that, but brimming with a zest that refreshes my old heart, albeit I fear she is far too _hasty_," he added with a glint of green in his deep brown eyes.

Gandalf looked thoughtful but said no more.  Soon the company took their leave of Treebeard and each other.  Many heartfelt partings were made that day, especially by the Companions of Frodo. 

"We shall meet ere long, for I shall travel North to Lake Evendim and restore our kingdom there," Aragorn assured them.

"And I shall return to Minis Tirith and Ithilien with folk of the Greenwoods to bring to life your stony realm!" said Legolas.

"As for the stones, my people will renew your city so it stands a wonder to all of Middle Earth," said the Dwarf.

"I shall accept your offers with much gratitude," replied Aragorn. "And I will expect you erelong, before the year is old."

At last Gimli and Legolas were astride Arod and riding into Fangorn Forest.

Legolas brought Arod to a light trot.  He smiled and breathed deeply.  "Mark you the air, Gimli!  It swells with life!"

"It _smells _with it, you mean," muttered the Dwarf from his seat behind the Elf.  "Give me the clean, wholesome air of the Glittering Caves!"

Legolas laughed.  "Aye, the caves were fair indeed, even to me, who has no great love of such places.  Now it is your turn to keep your mind and eyes open and find what we may here in Fangorn!"

Gimli shook his head but said nothing.  Fair was, after all, fair. 

They had traveled but a little way into the wood when Legolas called Arod to a halt.  They had stopped before a small hill, the very same upon which they had first seen Gandalf the White many months ago.  "Look, you, Gimli!  'Tis the hill that sprouts wizards!"

Sure enough, sitting upon the hill was Radagast the Brown.  He smiled and waved a greeting.  "Hail, Legolas son of Thranduil!  Well met, indeed!"

Legolas dismounted and Gimli followed suit with curiosity.  Gimli recognized the marks of a wizard in Radagast's shabby robes, pointed hat and long carved staff, but there the resemblance to Gandalf ended.  Whereas Gandalf's beard and hair were white and his eyes keen silver-grey, this man's grey beard and eyes were shot with brown, his face ruddy.  He was the very picture of a jolly old man, almost dwarf-like.  Gimli decided immediately that he liked the wizard.

"Gimli, this is my friend of old, Radagast the Brown, kinsman to Gandalf!"

The Dwarf bowed low and Radagast laughed, climbing down from the rock.  "I greet you, Gimli of Erebor.  And let me introduce… oh, goodness, _where _has that child got to now?  Little one!" he called. 

There was a skittering noise behind the hill and, in a moment, a tall child appeared above them.  "Here I am, Uncle!"

Legolas looked up and grinned broadly.  "Well!  It's the ward, or I'm a Dwarf of Erebor!"

"That you certainly are _not_, praise Eru," said Gimli, looking up into the blue eyes that were presently studying them in surprise.  "Has the child a name, or is it 'Ward'?"

"This is Rebecca, who is my ward," replied Radagast.  

Rebecca continued to look down at them, her eyes focused on Legolas as if she could not turn away.  "You are back, then?" she asked simply.

"Aye, so we are!" laughed the Elf.  "Will you come down, or shall we come up?" 

She flushed with embarrassment and clambered down the hill.  Legolas caught her as she leapt to the ground and she blushed even more furiously.  

"Well met, little one!" he grinned.  "How you have grown this year!"

She made a small curtsey, which seemed incongruous with her worn tunic and breeches.  She studied his face with wide eyes.  The prince was more beautiful than she remembered him to be.  

"I wish that we had known you to be here, Radagast!" said Legolas. "For we have just left Gandalf upon our road!"

Radagast smiled.  "It is nothing, my friend.  I shall meet him presently.  Come, shall we sit in the sunshine and talk of happy things?"

"Indeed!" replied Legolas, sitting upon the green grass with his back against the hill, stretching his long legs before him.  Gimli joined him, squat and cross-legged.  Rebecca tried not to stare but she had never seen a Dwarf before.  She found him intriguing, but the main share of her attention belonged to Legolas.  She watched his graceful hands as spoke, and noticed the mithril ring upon his finger.  She thought of the Lady Dolressa and of their eventual reunion. She looked into his deep brown eyes.  Keen as ever, they were, and yet there was a new light to them, of some deep yearning unknown to her.  She remembered her dream and wondered.

Radagast brought forth his pipe and pouch of Old Toby, to the sheer delight of Gimli, who produced his own and joined the wizard in blowing rings of smoke over the hill.  They spoke of the war and of great battles, of the King come at last to his throne in Gondor.  They spoke of the wedding of King Elessar and Arwen Undómiel.  Rebecca listened to their stories and rejoiced in their lightened hearts.  Most of all, she was glad that Legolas would soon join them in the halls of Thranduil, or so she thought.

Radagast then told them of the Battle Under the Trees and of the renaming of the wood.  Eryn Lasgalen was it called, the Wood of Green Leaves.  In honor of their labors in the war, King Thranduil had granted the midlands of the forest to the Beornings and the Woodmen.  They spoke of the cleansing of Dol Guldur and clearing the woods of giant spiders.  Gimli was gratified to hear of the valor of his people and of peace come to Erebor at last.  

Radagast spoke of his own efforts.  "We were called by Landroval of the house of Gwaihir to aid Treebeard.  We have labored with him in the restoration of Isengard, and have come just now to bid farewell to Fangorn ere we travel north."

"A lucky meeting, then!" smiled Legolas, tugging lightly on Rebecca's shoe.  "We shall join you in your travels!"

"Our road leads not to Eryn Lasgalen at present."

"It doesn't?" asked Rebecca in surprise, unwilling to relinquish her hopes of riding upon Legolas' fair grey stallion.

"No, little one.  We have other business to be about - we are off to the house of Tom Bombadil!"

"Ah, Iarwain Ben-adar!  How I would enjoy a talk with him myself, yet I am bound, upon completing our visit here, to return to my father."

"Aye," laughed Radagast.  "He is keen upon your return and, I believe, so is a certain lady?"

Legolas sighed.  "Yet each step I take leads me from the Sea," he said sadly.

Radagast raised his eyebrows.  "The Sea, did you say?  You have heard the gulls, then, I fear."

"Aye, near Lebennin whilst we sailed to Gondor and battle.  Nevermore shall I rest beneath the eaves of any wood, save in Eressëa." 

Radagast put a hand upon his shoulder.  "It is ever so with the Eldar, Legolas.  Once you have harkened to the Ulúmuri - Ulmo's horns of the deep - you have heard the music of the Ainur in the waters of the Sea and your yearning awakens; this longing will never leave you as long as Arda endures."

"It is so," sighed the Elf deeply.  "Yet there is still much to do ere I follow that way of my heart."

Radagast nodded.  "I am glad to hear it, for we will have great need of you in mending the wounds of this war.  Much there is to be done!"

"And so I shall," agreed Legolas.  "For a time, for a time."

The company stood and Radagast took Rebecca's hand.  "And now it is the hour for our parting, for the present, my friends.  We ride north directly."

Gimli bowed low and bid them farewell.  He was loathe to see them go, for he had already had enough of Fangorn.  Legolas stooped and kissed Rebecca's brow.  She looked openly into his fair face, wishing to memorize each feature.  How far away their next meeting might be she did not know.

They left the Elf and Dwarf standing by the hill; as Rebecca looked back, she saw the sunlight shining upon Legolas' hair.  He lifted his hand in farewell.

"Uncle?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Why do we not return to King Thranduil with the Prince?"

Radagast laughed.  "I see you have a fondness for our young Prince, my dear, yet we must not tarry.  We are expected at the House under the Hill; I have sent a raven before us to bring tidings to Tom."

"So soon?  We have barely been away for a year!  Am I… am I to live there again?" Once she would have been pleased but now she was unsure. She had come to love the halls of Thranduil as well.  It was unfair that she leave just as the Prince returned to them.

"For a time, Rebecca.  Now that you have seen something of the world you must sit at Tom's knee and learn what you can there."

They had ridden several days on the Greenway and were nearing the South Downs when they spied two travelers on the roadside.  As they drew closer Radagast gasped in surprise.  Rebecca looked up to see his face set in an unpleasant grimace.  Nevertheless he slowed their horse to halt before the pair.

The taller of the two was dressed in dirty white rags; he sneered as he looked up at them.  "Well, if it isn't Radagast the Bird-Tamer!  Have you come to gloat over me as well?  I assure you, Gandalf and his troop of fools have already done so!"

Radagast shook his head, regarding his former captain sadly.  "Nay, Saruman, I have no desire to see you further diminished."

"Aye, I have fallen into ruin and now have only this Gríma Worm to command."

The man with Saruman ducked as if avoiding a blow.

Saruman started as he noticed Rebecca, her wide blue eyes regarding him steadily.

"And what is this, Radagast?  Taken in another foundling, have you?" He stared closely at her, then raised his eyebrows archly.  "A chance meeting, indeed!" He laughed with a malice that set Radagast's teeth on edge.  "Yes, indeed!  And such a foundling!  I wonder, Radagast, if you perceive the depths of this treasure?" His eyes held Rebecca's; she liked neither his tone nor his gaze and stared down at the horse's mane.  

"I have naught to say on this or any other subject," replied Radagast tersely and spurred their horse on.

As Radagast and Rebecca rode away Saruman laughed anew.  "There's a pretty thing, Worm!" he gloated.  "Yes, she will be one to watch!  Unexpected, yet most useful…"

**_Next: The Ithryn Luin_**


	7. The Ithryn Luin

**The Other Child:  The Ithryn Luin**

_*Please note:  I quote a few of Tolkien's words here, from **Return of the King - The Scouring of the Shire**_

The wizard Alatar finished packing the last of his meager belongings.  He went to the entrance of his cavern and leaned upon his staff, looking out over the Sea of Rhûn.  His features were stern and weathered; his beard, once black, was now shot with silver.  His eyes were a deep blue, as were his robes.  From his mountain aerie he could discern the clusters of villages scattered throughout the foothills bordering the Sea.  He looked to the West, towards the setting sun.  It was high time he was on his way.

He'd spent many years amongst the people collectively known as the Easterlings.  Thanks to his efforts many of them had not fought in the battles that so often bloodied the plains of Middle Earth.  He had been able to convince some tribes not to participate in the War of the Ring, promising clemency and open trade routes with the King that was to come to his throne in Gondor.  Those to the southeast were unmovable; their proximity to Mordor had long ago swayed their allegiance.  Those who dwelt in the Far East were far more malleable; he had been able to stay them from joining with the Dark One. He would have had much greater success if his colleague in Khand to the South had not himself allied with Sauron; it was one of his most bitter memories.  He and Pallando had been the Ithryn Luin - the Blue Wizards - comrades and partners, but only for a time.  Now he would travel the Western path alone, in search of his comrades.  Among them only Radagast the Brown and Gandalf the Grey had avoided the lust for power that Sauron inspired.  Meneldor the Eagle had kept Alatar apprised of news from the other quarters of Middle Earth.  Thus had he learned of Saruman's betrayal and of Pallando's long before.  Both had failed in their missions as Istari.  Even worse, they had taken the part of the Dark Lord of Mordor.  There would be no passage to the Utmost West for either of them.

Alatar sighed as he leant upon his staff, wrapped in memories of his many years in the East.  Dagorlad, the Battle Plain, had been the gateway into Gondor for many armies of Easterlings to attack Ithilien.  Most of these battles were Sauron-inspired; only the Battle of Balchoth had involved the migration of entire peoples due to pressure from a warlike nation further east.  The Balchoth tribe had lived in Rhovanion to the east of Mirkwood and raided the Vales of Anduin to the south of the Gladden Fields.  They crossed the Anduin and were aided by Orcs of the Misty Mountains in raiding Calenardhon.  In the Battle of the Field of Celebrant they were annihilated by Cirion of Gondor and the Éothéod.  Senseless bloodshed, Alatar thought, shaking his head sadly.

Then there was the infamous Battle of Unnumbered Tears when, in the fight against Morgoth the men of the East, led by Ulfang the Black and his sons Ulfast, Ulworth and Uldor committed treachery against their Elven allies, turning upon them in midst of battle and slaying them from behind.  Only the faithful house of Bór with his sons Borlad, Borlach and Borthand fought nobly to their deaths of behalf of the Elves in that age.  

Another threat from the east involved the Wainriders who traveled in large wagons whilst their chieftains fought in chariots.  This Eastern confederacy first ventured west of the Sea of Rhûn in 1851, when, stirred by Sauron they attacked Gondor, taking Rhovanion and killing King Narmacil II.  In 1899 the enslaved Northmen revolted and Gondor, under King Calimehtan, took advantage of this to defeat the Wainriders in yet another battle on Dagorlad.  Fifty years later the Wainriders reattacked in a two-prong assault on Gondor from the east and the south in 1944; in this they were aided by the men of Khand and Near Harad under the instruction of Pallando.  King Ondoher and his two sons were killed in this attack, but Ëarnil and his troops defeated them in north Ithilien in the Battle of the Camp, taking them unawares whilst they celebrated their assumed victory.  

In general Alatar found the Easterlings irritable by nature and greedy for the riches of Gondor, yet they could be men of sense if they heeded his counsel.  They lived primarily in tribes, under the leadership of their elders and chieftains.  If these individuals were men of honor and reason Alatar was fortunate in his dealings with them. He had worked with the tribes of Bór to strengthen the resolve of the Easterlings to resist the Dark Lord and his minions; it had been difficult work indeed, but had resulted in the occasional treaty and their abstaining from battle at the very least.

In his other task he had known only failure.  Each of the Istari had been charged with discovering the location of the Entwives; it was said of old that Yavanna would restore war-ravaged Middle Earth when the reunion of Ent and Entwife, her oldest creations, had been achieved.  Despite his efforts, no news of them could Alatar gather after their days of habitation in the Brown Lands.  When their gardens were destroyed during the war between Sauron and the Last Alliance they had disappeared with them.  Radagast felt they had moved to the east and bade Alatar be on constant vigil for them, but he had not found any Entwives no matter where he searched.

He sighed and retrieved his sack as he saw Meneldor spiraling above his mountain.  Soon the bird landed then bore him away, towards the West and the house of Iarwain Ben-adar.  Alatar's long efforts in the East were, at last, finished.  The King and his advisors must now maintain their own treaties and their peace with the Easterlings.

While Alatar soared with Meneldor high above the treetops of Middle Earth another Istari pondered his fate many leagues to the south.  In a mountain cave in the easternmost range of the Ephel Dúath, the wizard Pallando sat hunched over a large iron cauldron, his blue robes in tatters.  He despondently watched the magical waters, trying to determine his next actions.  He had learned to discern the waters at the very knee of Sauron himself; it was their chief means of communication.  Now the waters of Barad-Dûr were still.  The Dark Lord had been dethroned and broken sent into the Void to follow his master Morgoth, leaving his faithful servants lost and hopeless.  Pallando was one such servant.  

Pallando remembered better days when he was useful to his master.  The Variags of Khand and the tribes of Near Harad followed his counsel and allied themselves of old with Mordor.  The Haradrim of Haradwaith and Far Harad had also cast their lots with the dark throne.  Pallando's efforts had been greatly appreciated by Sauron and the wizard had enjoyed the favor of his master for many years.  He fingered the medallion upon his breast.  It had been a gift from Sauron, augmenting his own powers with those of his master to make his voice smooth so that his influence would win the hearts of all who would listen.  In these bitter days the medallion lay useless; it could not combine two powers when one had gone into the Void.

Now, crouching like a besieged animal in his mountain stronghold, Pallando knew desolation.  He had few options.  He might return to the Utmost West, if there was a ship that would bear him, and petition the Valar for mercy.  He did not hold forth much hope on this course.  His actions had long opposed the wishes of the Valar when they sent him forth with the other Istari.  The testimony of Alatar alone would condemn him and he would be thrown into the Void with Morgoth and Sauron forever.

Yet what else was he to do?  He could stir up the ever-present enmity of the Haradrim, encouraging them to join forces with the Easterlings in their age-old dispute with Gondor, but to what avail?  His medallion was dead and even in his most grandiose moments, Pallando knew that he was no master of men.  He'd always needed the leadership of someone else, someone stronger, to give him his marching orders.  But where would he find such a one in these sad times?

While Pallando mourned his fate, Frodo and his companions arrived at Bag End, horrified and dismayed by the ruin of Hobbiton.  The chestnuts were gone, the banks and hedgerows broken.  Bagshot Row was a gaping gravel quarry and the Party Tree was cut down; it lay where it had fallen, lifeless.  This brought Sam to angry tears. Merry raised the silver horn of Rohan; its clear blast rang over the Hill and brought to them friends - hobbits who were well ready to fight at last.

Bag End was heaped with refuse, its door scarred and broken.  

"This is worse than Mordor," cried Sam. "Much worse, in a way - because it is home and you remember it before it was ruined!"*

"Yes, this is Mordor, Sam," said Frodo sadly.  "Just one of its works.  Saruman was doing its work all the time, even when he thought he was working for himself."*

They heard cruel laughter and Saruman himself appeared at the door.  "So, I am able to welcome you home," he sneered. He looked well fed and well pleased, his eyes gleaming with malice and amusement.  "Evidently you did not expect to see me here."*

"I did not," said Frodo. "But I might have guessed - a little mischief in a mean way; Gandalf warned us that you were quite capable of it."*

"Quite capable!  You made me laugh, you hobbit-lordlings, riding along with all those great people, so secure and so pleased with your little selves.  You thought you had done very well out of it all and could now just amble back to your nice little country.  Saruman's home could be wrecked and he could be turned out, but no one could touch yours.  Oh no!  Gandalf would look after your affairs!" Saruman laughed again.  "Not he!  When his tools have done their task he drops them.  Well, thought I, if they're such fools, I will get ahead of them and teach them a lesson.  One ill turn deserves another.  I have done much that you will find it hard to mend or undo in your lives.  And it will be pleasant to think of that and set it against my injuries."*

Frodo sighed.  "If that is what you find pleasure in, I pity you.  It will be pleasure in memory only, I fear.  Go at once and never return!"*

The hobbits that had assembled murmured angrily.  "Don't let him go!  Kill him - he's a villain and a murderer!"*

Saruman looked around at their hostile faces and smiled.  "Kill him!" he mocked.  "Kill him, if you think there are enough of you!" He drew himself up and stared at them darkly with his black eyes.  "Do not think that when I lost all my goods I lost all my power!  Whoever strikes me shall be accursed and if my blood stains the Shire it shall wither and never again be healed."*

The hobbits recoiled.  But Frodo said, "Do not believe him!  He has lost all power save his voice that can still deceive you, if you let it.  But I will not have him slain.  It is useless to meet revenge with revenge - it heals nothing.  Go, Saruman, by the speediest way!"*

"Worm, Worm!" called Saruman; and out of a nearby hut came Wormtongue, crawling and cringing.  "To the road again, Worm!  These fine fellows are turning us out - come along!"*

Saruman turned to go and Wormtongue shuffled after him.  But as Saruman passed close to Frodo a knife flashed in his hand and he stabbed swiftly.  The blade turned on Frodo's hidden mail coat and snapped.  A dozen hobbits, led by Sam, leaped forward and flung the villain to the ground.  Sam drew his sword.*

"No, Sam!" said Frodo. "Do not kill him, even now.  I will not have him slain in this evil mood - he was great once, of a noble kind that we should not dare to raise our hand against.  He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him in the hope that he may find it."*

Saruman rose to his feet and stared at Frodo with a strange look in his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred.  "You have grown, Halfling. Yes, you have grown very much - you are wise and cruel.  You have robbed my revenge of sweetness and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt of your mercy.  I hate it and you, and all of Middle Earth!  I shall yet have my revenge - you shall see."

He walked away and the hobbits let him pass, albeit white-knuckling their weapons.  Wormtongue hesitated.  

"You need not follow him," said Frodo.  "You can have rest and food here, until you are stronger and can go your own ways."*

Wormtongue looked back as if prepared to stay.  Saruman laughed.  "It was Worm here who killed your little Lotho.  Worm is not very nice - you had better leave him to me."*

A look of wild hatred came into Wormtongue's red eyes.  "You made me do it," he hissed.*

Saruman laughed.  "You do what I say, don't you, Worm?  Well, now I say _follow_!" he commanded, kicking Wormtongue as he turned and made off.*

At that moment something snapped in Wormtongue and he rose up, drawing a hidden knife, and snarling he sprang on Saruman, jerked his head back, cut his throat and ran off down the lane.  Before Frodo could recover three hobbit-bows sang and Wormtongue fell dead.*

To the dismay of those that stood by, about the body of Saruman a grey mist gathered and, rising slowly to a great height like smoke from a fire, as a pale shrouded figure it loomed over the Hill.  For a moment it wavered, looking into the West; but out of the West came a cold wind and it bent away and with a sigh blew into the East.*

Far to the East, Pallando stood at the mouth of his cavern, looking over the Sea of Nurnen in despair.  Suddenly he saw a dark cloud of grey, moving swiftly from the West.  Soon it enveloped him and, as it overtook him his medallion burned like fire at his breast and he heard the soft voice of Saruman; he rejoiced that his salvation was upon him.

**_Next: Back to Tom Bombadil_**


	8. Back to Tom Bombadil

**The Other Child:  Back to Tom Bombadil**

_*Please note:  I quote a few of Tolkien's words here, from **Return of the King - The Grey Havens**_

Rebecca opened her eyes as the sun slanted through her window, peeping its rays over the tops of the chrysanthemums.  Outside she could hear birds along with the dulcet tones of Goldberry.  Both were singing songs of washing, Goldberry at her laundry tub and the sparrows in the garden's stone birdbath. Rebecca smiled.  It had been many months since she had heard Goldberry's songs or Tom's laughter.  She stretched and looked about her room.  It was still the same room as it had been a year ago.  It remained unchanged, but she did not.

They had arrived at the House under the Hill yesterday.  Tom waved them in and set them at the supper table as if they'd never been away.  They spoke of the War and the Withywindle and the restoration of Isengard.  Goldberry had tucked her in while Tom and Radagast talked late into the night.  "You've grown, my little one," she smiled, kissing her forehead as she pulled the blankets up to her chin.  "You're becoming a beautiful young lady."

Rebecca lingered in bed that morning.  Radagast told her that she would learn from Tom.  She began to compose a mental list of questions, then thought better of it and, rising, went to her small writing desk.  She chewed the end of a quill for a moment then began her list in earnest:

1. What do I need to learn?  What am I to do?

She tugged on the white gem at her throat, then added:

2. Why was I given this jewel?

3. Are the wars over?

She thought about some of the things she'd seen, and about Treebeard:

4. What happened to the Entwives?

5. Who is Yavanna?

She hesitated for a second, then scrawled hurriedly:

6. Who are my real parents?

She stared at the last question, written in ink by her own hand, and flushed.  No one had ever answered it before.  She had asked Tom, when she was very small.  Once.  He had patted her and said, "Goldberry and I will take care of you, sweet one."  He would speak no more on the subject and she did not ask again.  Odd, how it seemed important to her now.  She let it stand as Number Six.

She sat for a while, chewing on the quill and thinking of other matters to address.  She remembered Legolas talking about the work he was to do in Gondor and her pen flew:

7. Will we visit King Thranduil again?

8. Where is Ithilien?

9.  Are we to visit there?

She added another question, to make her list a round ten:

10. May we go to the wedding of Prince Legolas?

Satisfied with her work, she donned the clean dress that Goldberry had laid out for her, having taken her traveling tunic and breeches for washing day. She found Tom and Radagast at the breakfast table.  She tucked in, remembering how much she loved Goldberry's scones and fresh blackberry jam.  

"Slept well, Rebecca?" asked Tom, his eyes twinkling over his teacup.

"Yes, sir, very," she replied around a mouthful of scone.

"Appetite like a horse," he remarked approvingly.

She nodded and handed Tom her list.

"What's this, then?" he asked, squinting as he perused it.  "I see! A most impressive array of questions!  Am I to answer them over breakfast?"

"If you would, sir," she replied earnestly.

He laughed and shook his head.  "Nay, little one, we shall have many mornings together, you and I.  Pick just one and I will answer it now, while I finish my tea."

She reread her list.  "Number One, please, sir."

He sighed.  "You used to call me Tom and Tom am I still - I am no king!  Now then, what was Number One?"

"What am I to learn, Tom, and what am I to _do_?"

Tom pushed back from the table and lit his pipe.  "Well," he said at last. "That's rather a big question, isn't it?"

"Is it?" She honestly didn't know.

"Yes, indeed!  I will answer it in part only, for we will spend much of our time together discussing this matter.  For the present, I will tell you this.  You are to learn your history, which is part of the great story of Middle Earth.  You will learn of its peoples and creatures, its great tales of glory and its sorrows.  You will, in time, come to understand your part in things, Rebecca, for you are to have a part - a great one, indeed."

"But what am I to _do_?" she repeated, toying with the jewel around her neck.

"First you are to listen with _patience_," replied Radagast with a smile.

"We should start from the very beginning," continued Tom.  "Finish your breakfast and we'll go to the garden."

Rebecca did so and they went to sit in the sunny garden, full of Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums; the leaves of the oak and beech trees had turned to gold.  Rebecca sat cross-legged on the grass while Radagast shared his pouch of Old Toby with Tom.  Tom lit his pipe and sighed with great contentment.  "Let's see, we will start from the beginning.  A nice place on such a lovely autumn day.  Mind you, that was many ages ago, even before my time and that's saying something!" he laughed heartily.  "Now, back at the beginning of things, when the Ainur - they are also called the Valar or the Powers - they sang for Ilúvatar the First Song of the Ainur and of their singing Middle Earth was born.  

Yavanna's song brought forth the gardens, the fields and the trees; the Ents are her eldest, her Shepherds of Trees.  Their branches dance in the winds of Manwë and their roots plumb Ulmo's depths.  They grew in the great forests when Elbereth rekindled the stars and awoke the Elves.  The Elves taught them their speech, for the Ents delighted in learning languages.  Their own tongue rolls deep and full as the timeless booming of the waves upon the shores of Middle Earth.  Entwives there were as well, who became enamored of open lands where they tended the lesser Olvar - fruit trees, shrubs, flowers, grasses, grains.  As long as there are Entings, Middle Earth will prosper; so spoke Yavanna.

Manwë is mightiest of the Powers and rules the Undying Lands.  His nearest kindred, Melkor, fell into pride and sought to rule creatures of his own while destroying anything of value to Ilúvatar.  He fled to establish his dark kingdom - Thangorodrim, the Mountains of Tyranny - above Angband in the northwestern corner of Middle Earth.  Here at the roots of the mountains he bred foul creatures - Orcs, Trolls, Balrogs and the fearsome Dragon-worms - to despoil the works of the Valar.

Then the Eldar awoke near Lake Cuiviénen in the far east of Middle Earth, and the Valar were so delighted with them that they invited them to their own kingdom to dwell in the beauty of Valinor.  Many Elves accepted this offer - the Vanyar and the Noldor came on the Great March, whilst the Teleri became enamored of the Sea and chose to live on Eressëa in the Bay of Eldemar, forever in sight of Aman yet always near the waters of Ulmo. Here Olwë founded Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans.  Some of the Teleri remained in Beleriand and became known as the Sindar.  Elwë Thingol was their lord and he became King of Doriath, taking to wife Melian, a Maia of great power and beauty. There were also Elves who chose not to heed the call of the Valar.  These were the Avari, or East Elves, who established themselves throughout the forests of Middle Earth.

The Vanyar and Noldor greatly benefited from their association with the Valar.  The Noldor, in particular, learned from Aulë - great became their knowledge and skill in crafting metals and gems of the earth.

Now Finwë, King of the Noldor was wed to Míriel Serindë, who gave birth to their only son, Fëanor.  It was said she gave all of her fëa, her life's energy, to him, for she sought the Halls of Mandos and left her body to sleep in the gardens of Lorien.  Finwë greatly mourned her yet she would not return to the living.  Subsequently he took to wife a Vanyarin Elf, Indis, who gave birth to sons Fingolfin and Finarfin.  Great enmity had Fëanor for them, resenting his father's second marriage.

Fëanor threw himself into his work and poured his own fëa into the creation of the Silmarils, three jewels that were filled with the light of the Two Trees of Valinor - Telperion the White Tree and Laurelin the Golden.

Ever desiring to thwart the Valar and their beloved Elves, Melkor poisoned the Trees with the help of Ungoliant, stole the Silmarils and fled to Angband.  

Manwe bade Yavanna to put forth all her powers upon the trees but her songs and her tears could not heal them.  For a long time she sang and as her hope wavered and her song faltered, Laurelin bore at last a single fruit of gold and Telperion a great silver flower and one dewy teardrop.  Yavanna gave these to Aulë, who made vessels to hold them and send forth their radiance.  He presented them to Elbereth, who set them in the skies to travel a great girdle above the World, East to West, as Isil the moon and Anar the sun.

Of the teardrop of Telperion Aulë created a jewel, a powerful gemstone that was infused with the Song of Yavanna.

Meanwhile Fëanor cursed Melkor, renaming him Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World, and led the Noldor in revolt against the wishes of the Valar to Middle Earth.  In so doing Fëanor stole the white ships of the Teleri at Alqualondë, which were as precious to them as the Silmarils, leading to a terrible massacre and incurring the Doom of Mandos - that tears unnumbered would the Noldor shed and troubled would be their road, by weapon and by grief.  And so began the great War of the Jewels - the Silmarillion."

Tom paused to relight his pipe.  "I tell you this, little one, so that you may understand the rhythms of history, for they tend to repeat themselves."

Rebecca nodded, wide-eyed.  "What happened to the Silmarils, Tom?  And to Fëanor and the Elves?"

Tom sighed.  "These are sad stories and, for now, I will tell them only in brief.  Morgoth set the Silmarils in his iron crown and Fëanor was slain by Orcs in trying to recover them.  The Noldor went on to build great kingdoms in Middle Earth - Nargothrond and Gondolin.  Both were destroyed in turn by Morgoth and his armies.

During this time, the Second Children of Ilúvatar, Men, came into the World in the eastern land of Hildórien.  They, too, spread across Middle Earth.  The Men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends - the Atani or the Edain - traveled west to seek lands free of Morgoth's shadow.  These were the peoples of Bëor, Haleth and Hador.  

This you must know, for it affects you directly: to Men was given the Gift of Ilúvatar, that they would pass beyond the ken of Middle Earth to a destiny unknown even to the Valar, while the Eldar remain part of Arda until the end of days.  But Morgoth, desiring to cause enmity between the Children of Ilúvatar, caused Men to fear this gift and twisted it from one of hope to one of fear; it has come to be held in grief due to his deceits.  Yet Ilúvatar has declared that Men will join in the Second Music of the Ainur, whereas he has not revealed what he purposes for the Elves at the World's end.  Ilúvatar always plants with a purpose, and he did not set the love of Arda in Men's hearts in vain.  Remember that, Rebecca, and do not doubt it."

Rebecca took his words to heart.  Then she asked, "What became of Morgoth?"

"Now I will tell you of Eärendil the Mariner, son of Tuor and Idril Turgon's daughter, who was born in Gondolin.  He was descended from the Two Kindred - Elves and Men - and he sailed to Valinor to beseech the aid of the Valar.  He begged pardon for the Noldor and mercy for the Men and Elves who were in greet need of deliverance from Morgoth.  The Valar heard his petition and granted it.

At last the might of Valinor came out of the West and the challenge of their trumpets rang throughout Middle Earth.  They came forth and, in the War of Wrath, faced and defeated the armies of Morgoth.  The Balrogs were destroyed save those who fled and hid at the roots of the earth.  Legions of Orcs perished.  The winged Dragons were repelled by Eärendil, who slew Ancalagon the Black - his fall broke Thangorodrim.  Then Morgoth was bound, his iron crown beaten into a collar about his neck and brought before Manwe, who shut him beyond the World into the Void that is without.  Never shall he return while the Powers are enthroned.

Eärendil and his wife Elwing remained in Valinor, and Eärendil's ship, the Vingilot, often travels through the skies.  You can see the Silmaril set upon its prow and it is called the Flamiffer of Westernesse, bringing hope to all of us who linger here.

Now Eärendil had two sons, who were granted a choice of destiny - either to remain with the Eldar or elect the Gift of Ilúvatar.  Each son chose a different path.  Elros chose to be mortal and became Tar-Minyatur, the first King of Númenor. Elrond cast his lot with the Eldar and became the Lord of Imladris, or Rivendell. At this time the Doom of Mandos was revoked and any among the Noldor who wished to do so were given leave to return to the Utmost West.  

"Then everything ended happily," exclaimed Rebecca.

"No, little one, not so.  For Morgoth created many evils which still dwelt in the dark places of Middle Earth.  Worse still, he had corrupted a Maia of old, who became his chief and his name was Sauron, the Abhorred.  Originally he was from the House of Aulë and so knew the craft of ringmaking.  In the days of Celebrimbor, when the great Elven smiths of Eregion made the Rings of Power, he deceived them all and created the One Ring.  The three Elven rings were secreted away from him but their doom was now tied to the fate of the One Ring; as long as it lasted their powers would hold but if it was unmade, so too would they fade.

Sauron grew steadily in power, seducing the Númenorians and bringing about their downfall by inciting them to challenge the Valar themselves.  Thus was Númenor crushed by the Sea and the World was bent so that the path to the Utmost West lay straight and open only to those Elves who wished to return there.  

In the destruction of Númenor, Sauron's body was destroyed.  As a Maia his spirit lingered and sought a new form, but no longer could he assume a countenance fair and pleasing.  Thenceforth he was doomed to appear as he was - foul and evil.

With the Ring of Power he built Barad-dûr and held sway over much of Middle Earth, until he was faced by the Last Alliance of Men and Elves.  He came down from his tower and did battle with the Elven King Gil-galad and his ally Elendil and was thrown down.  Prince Isildur of Arnor cut the One Ring from his finger and he was vanquished, for a time.  But Isildur would not follow Elrond's counsel to destroy the ring and so Sauron's power grew again, albeit slowly and secretly."

Tom spoke in great detail about these times, about the evil in Dol Guldur and the works wrought with the Elven Rings in Imladris and Lorien.  He told of the lineage of Arnor and of Gondor.  He talked about the Kings who were buried in the Barrow-downs and of Carn Dûm and the Witch-king of Angmar.  He spoke of the lands of the Rohirrim and the about the Éothéod.  He told of the adventure of Bilbo Baggins and the finding of the One Ring, of the great Quest and of its conclusion.  "At last the destruction of the One Ring came to pass and Barad-dûr was destroyed.  Sauron, like his master before him, was sent broken into the Void."

"Just this March!" exclaimed Rebecca.  "Isn't that right, Uncle?  That's when you gave me my necklace!"

"Aye, and now your part of the tale begins, little one.  For you wear the jewel that Aulë wrought from the teardrop of the dying Telperion, that you might heal the wounds inflicted upon Middle Earth in the time of Great Healing.  These matters we will discuss on another day.  Many things have you heard and of these only a part.  We will speak in greater detail on all these matters as we learn the lore of living things in a fashion of which Treebeard himself would approve.  Now the sun sets and it is time for supper.  Tomorrow we will begin our discussion of the Istari."

"What are the Istari?"

"I am," laughed Radagast.  "But there are four of my brethren whom you must know.  One we met upon our road two days hence."

"Gandalf?" asked Tom.  "I didn't expect him until tomorrow."

"No, not Gandalf.  It was Saruman that we saw, heading west on the Greenway."

Tom frowned.  "Curunír has left Orthanc, then?"

"Yes, and Treebeard has restored it - with our help, as we told you."

Tom nodded, his eyes unfocused.  "Then Curunír has met our Rebecca?"

"Yes, for a moment only."

"Hmm. Perhaps inevitable, I can't tell.  Certainly no good can come from Curunír's knowledge of her."

"You feel he still has venom in his sting, then?"

"Aye," said Tom, blowing smoke rings pensively.  "Aye, he has both venom and sting, and will have them to the end, I fear. Yet nothing is to be done.  Indeed, it is the will of Ilúvatar that things take their due course."

"Who is Gandalf?" asked Rebecca.  

Tom laughed.  "That question is not on your list, Rebecca!  But come, we will be late for supper.  On the morrow I shall tell you about the Istari, and about Gandalf."

The following morning, Rebecca asked again, "Who is Gandalf?"

Tom smiled.  "Now, then, everything in its proper order.  We must begin with an historic council, held in the Second Age.  That is over many thousands of your years, Rebecca.  At that time, Manwe called a Máhanaxar - a great council of the Valar - to address the fate of Middle Earth.  As we discussed yesterday, Morgoth waged the War of the Jewels and Middle Earth had paid dearly for it.  Now Morgoth's chief, Sauron, had begun to grow in power and the Valar were worried lest the peoples of Middle Earth fall under yet another shadow.  The Powers agreed to resist him and, with the consent of Ilúvatar they sent forth members of the Maia, who were clad in the bodies of Men and forbidden to reveal themselves in forms of majesty or to seek to rule the wills of Elves or Men by openly displaying their powers.  In these shapes, weak and humble, they were bidden to advise and persuade the peoples of Middle Earth to unite against evil.

There were five Istari.  Two were sent ahead of the others, along with Glorfindel, who was to aid Elrond in Eriador.  They arrived when matters became dangerous in the Second Age, to help the few tribes of Men who had rebelled from Morgoth-worship.  They were key in weakening the forces of the East and the South, which would otherwise have outnumbered the West.  Rómestámo the East Helper and Morinehtar the Darkness-slayer, Alatar and Pallando they are called - the Ithryn Luin - the Blue Wizards.  To the East and to the South they were sent.  Alatar has worked these many years with the Men of the East - the Easterlings - and he has wrought much good. Sadly, his brother Pallando chose to ally himself with Sauron at the start of the Third Age.  He has served Sauron well, igniting the Haradrim to make their treaties with Barad-dûr and fight its battles.

The next Istari appeared on the shores of Middle Earth in the year 1000 of the Third Age.  At first they were quiet, traveling and gaining knowledge of Middle Earth and all that dwelt therein.  As the shadow of Sauron began to grow and lengthen, their true work commenced. Aiwendil, or your Uncle Radagast the Brown you know.  His mission begins now - to heal the wounds of Sauron.  

You have also met Curunir upon the road.  Saruman the White was he called, and great he was of old - intelligent yet very proud.  Too proud, I fear, for he succumbed to the lust for power and also fell under the shadow of Mordor, as Pallando had before him. But instead of serving the Dark Lord he sought to replace him.  I fear that he will not seek the clemency of the Powers and, in the end, will tread the dark path into the Void."

Tom paused and took a deep breath.  "So it is, Radagast, that two of your brethren have stumbled into darkness.  It is fortunate that Gandalf surpassed all their evil with his greater good."

"I have long considered Gandalf to be the finest that the Valar sent forth," agreed Radagast.  "Yet he would maintain his humility in the face of his achievements, giving all credit to those who heeded his counsel."

"Aye, Gandalf is humble but not to be trifled with, as Saruman discovered to his own undoing."

"But what is he _like_?" asked Rebecca.

"What is he like?" mused Tom.  "A very difficult question to answer."

"He is many things, the least of which is good-humored and always punctual," declared a deep voice from the door.

"Gandalf!" cried Radagast, rising to clap the newcomer on his shoulder.

Rebecca's eyes grew wide as she watched the wizard take a seat by the hearth.  Taller than Radagast, his beard was snowy white as was his raiment.  He threw his silver mantle over the back of his chair, his blue eyes twinkling like sapphires as he regarded her.

"So you are Radagast's young ward, eh?  Mae govannen, little one!"

Radagast introduced her.  She took the hand Gandalf offered and shook it.  She felt, under his steady regard, that he instantly knew her better than she did herself.

His bushy white eyebrows sailed to his hairline.  "By my beard!  Well met indeed!"

He looked to Radagast, who shook his head slightly.  Understanding, Gandalf nodded.  "Well," said he.  "You were coming to my part of the story - please don't let me interrupt.  Praising me, weren't you?"

Tom laughed.  "We were speaking of your great humility, Olórin.  Do not prove me wrong!"

"How many names do you have, sir?"

"Many, little one, and not all of them to my liking!  But you may call me Gandalf, as that is my favorite."  So saying, he doffed his tall pointed hat and produced a long pipe.  "I have just come, my friends, from Rivendell and bring you the compliments of Elrond.  I have also left my beloved hobbits on the road and am, therefore, sorely lacking in pipeweed."  Tom obliged him with his pouch.  "Ah!" cried Gandalf in delight, sitting back and stretching his long legs before him.  "Now I am content and you may ask me anything you wish."

Rebecca tucked her knees up to her chin and asked, "What are hobbits like?"

"If I had several years I could not answer you in full, Rebecca, for their ways are many!  Let us say they are a folk who live to the West and are as full of surprises as Tom here.  There are none dearer to me."

Tom chuckled.  "They are the Periannath, little one, the Halflings.  I shall take you to their country and you shall see for yourself."

"They shall be glad of your visit, I am sure.  I fear they return to a changed land," said Gandalf, shaking his head.

"All lands are changing for the better, now that the worst has passed," said Radagast.

"Yet your work begins," replied Gandalf.  

"That it does, and I shall have help in doing it," said Radagast, with a nod to Rebecca.

"Little one, run and see what Goldberry is up to - she needs your help as well!" said Tom.  "You shall join us later, I promise," he added upon seeing her reluctance to leave.  

Rebecca made a curtsey and skipped from the room.

Gandalf's manner became somber.  "You did not tell me about the girl, Tom.  I would have liked to have known sooner."

Tom shook his head.  "No harm is done in your knowing now, Olórin."

"Maybe not.  She is wearing the jewel of the West, and destiny lies before her.  Does she know her past?"

"Not yet.  Do you?"

"I can guess.  Will you tell her?"

"A part, perhaps," replied Tom.  "She is not prepared to know too much at once - it is unwise.  Nor are you to tell him.  There is too much to do, yet."

"I will keep my silence," agreed Gandalf.  "But I do not agree."

Tom smiled.  "You were never one to reveal your plans in their entirety.  I am recalling a certain hobbit you sent upon an adventure with Dwarves…"

Gandalf shrugged.  "If I did not speak of my designs it was often because I did not know them myself."

"Nor do I know all there is about this matter," replied Tom.  "Only in the fullness of time are the plans of Ilúvatar revealed."

"It is wiser, then, to let matters proceed of their own impetus," agreed Radagast.  "The girl has much to learn, yet, and to do.  The time of Great Healing is upon us, at last."

Later that day a second visitor arrived at the House under the Hill.  The wizard Alatar alit from Meneldor the Swift and rang the bell.  Rebecca answered and grinned broadly at his pointed blue hat.  "You are here to see Tom!" she declared.

"Aye, that I am," replied Alatar, following her into the house and greeting his brethren therein.  Again Tom sent Rebecca away and they stayed locked in Tom's library all day and night for several days to follow.

At last, on the third day of their visitation, Tom called Rebecca in to them.  She sat on the hearthrug and listened to their tales.  Gandalf talked long about the War of the Ring and the peoples of Middle Earth.  Alatar added his part about the Easterlings and the valiant people of Bór, who continued to be trustworthy allies of the West.  She felt as if she could listen for days, and indeed she did.  Weeks passed and their talks continued.  Some of the conversation was sad, some brutal, some very funny and full of joy.  

Then, on a fine September day Gandalf and Alatar took their leave.  Gandalf pressed a kiss on Rebecca's forehead and blessed her.  She hated to see them go.  

In the autumn of 3021, while Rebecca stayed in the House under the Hill, Gandalf and Alatar rode forth to meet the Last Riding of the Keepers of the Rings at the Grey Havens.  A great party of Elves rode through the Shire and met Frodo and Samwise.  Gildor Inglorion was with them, and Elrond with the sapphire Vilya upon his finger.  The Lady Galadriel rode upon a white palfrey and was robed in white, like clouds about the Moon; on her finger was Nenya, the mithril ring set with a frosty white stone.  Riding with them was Bilbo, who drowsed on his pony.  

Galadriel complimented Sam upon his use of her gift to him, for the Shire was greener and lovelier than it had been even before Saruman's destruction.  

"Aye," agreed Gandalf.  "There is still much to heal, but you will have help, Sam. The best of help!" he said with a laugh.  

"But who will help us now that you are gone?" asked Sam sadly.

"You shall see, my friend," smiled Gandalf but would say no more.

They rode on, for the Third Age was over and the Days of the Rings were passed.  With them went many Elves of the High Kindred who would no longer stay in Middle Earth now that its magic was diminishing.  They rode at last to Mithlond, to the Grey Havens in the long firth of Lune.  Círdan the Shipwright led them to the Havens where a white ship awaited them, along with Gandalf and Alatar.  The hobbits took their leave of each other and the sails were drawn up, the wind blew and slowly the ship slipped away down the long firth and the light of the vial of Galadriel that Frodo bore glimmered and was lost.*  

Thus passed the Ringbearers to the Uttermost West and ended the Third Age, the twilight between the Eldar days and the Afterworld, which then began.

And at the beginning of those days, Rebecca sat beside Tom and learned the lore of every living thing - its history and its future - in the House under the Hill.

**_Next: The Eilenaer _**


	9. The Eilenaer

**The Other Child:  The Eilenäer**

Rebecca continued to learn the lore and legends of Middle Earth in the House under the Hill.  It seemed at times a week had passed, and then months which turned to years.  Radagast went abroad and Rebecca still stayed with Tom and Goldberry.  They often made trips into the Old Forest.  The trees there were more peaceful, for Old Man Willow's song was much quieter now.  Rebecca learned to talk to them and asked them about the Entwives, but none had ever encountered any, to her disappointment.

Rebecca also spent a great deal of time talking to the birds and small creatures that lived by the Withywindle.  She learned to heed the sounds of the seasons and to sing songs of healing and flowering to the Olvar, practicing on Goldberry's garden.  

Once Tom made a trip with her into the Shire, as he had promised.  There she met Samwise Gamgee and helped him with his gardens and the healing of the lands scarred by Saruman.  From Sam she learned of the demise of Saruman and of Frodo sailing with Gandalf into the West. Rebecca dearly loved the hobbits and found them as Gandalf had described - full of surprises.

It was after a long day of laboring to restore hedgerows and perennials in Westfarthing that Sam invited Tom and Rebecca for supper at Bag End.  They were surprised by Merry and Pippin who, upon hearing of Tom's visit decided to join the party.  Rose bustled about with the meal - her culinary skills surpassed even those of Thranduil's chefs.  

After supper they removed themselves to the library, where they brought out their pipes.  Longbottom leaf was the choice that evening.  As they blew smoke rings through the open windows they talked of their adventures.  Rebecca was especially interested in their discussion of Treebeard and Isengard.  

"We were terribly frightened of him at first," recalled Merry. "For we had never seen his like.  But there was something kind about him, and then he shared his Ent-draughts with us."

"Yes," laughed Tom.  "It is clear that he did, indeed!  If you grow any more we will take you for Elves!"

Pippin shook his head.  "I would sooner be called a Wizard or a Dwarf!  But I can't complain - being big and strong has come in handy on our travels."

They talked of the Ent-moot and of the destruction of Isengard.  They spoke of the war, and of great battles.  Meriadoc paled as he tried to describe the Battle of Pelennor Fields.  The memory was too horrific for him, so Pippin took over and told of Faramir and the bravery of Beregond.  

Sam smiled.  "I remember Prince Faramir well.  Thought Master Frodo and I were hoodlums, that he did.  But he turned out to be good-hearted and wise in the end."

"He rules Ithilien now," explained Pippin.  "He has even more work to do than Treebeard at Isengard, for it is a land ravaged by war."

"And you never saw the Entwives in all your travels?" asked Rebecca.

"No, and we promised Treebeard faithfully that we would send word if ever we did," said Merry.

"Treebeard fears that they may have fallen asleep like old Finglas Leaflock, who by all accounts has become quite 'tree-ish'," said Pippin.

"'Tree-ish'?"

Tom sighed.  "When an Ent loses heart and remains sedentary for too long, it becomes less like an Ent and more like a tree.  It falls into a deep sleep and moves very little, if at all."

"And you think the Entwives have lost heart and fallen asleep?" asked Rebecca. "Why?"

"Long ago they lived in the Brown Lands, great open plains to the west of Fangorn Forest and north of Ithilien.  There they tended their gardens, preferring fruit trees and flowers to the forests.  But there were great battles waged upon their lands and their beautiful gardens were destroyed.  Perhaps they became depressed at their loss and hence 'tree-ish'," said Tom.

"It's a sad story," sighed Sam.  "Perhaps I should include it in the Red Book?"

"Do that," agreed Tom.  "For it is a tale worth telling.  Long ago Yavanna foretold that Middle Earth would be renewed with the birth of Entings after the Great Wars.  Now is the time, but without the Entwives…"

"There will be no Entings," said Rebecca sadly.  "That's terrible!"

"We shall see, for the Fourth Age is new.  Great things may yet happen," replied Tom.

Later that winter, on a snowy day Tom and Rebecca sat beside the fire.  Tom was speaking of the seasons and of change.  "There is a rhythm to all of life. Day becomes night.  Spring's growth ends with winter's rest.  There are tides - deep eternal conversations between the Land and the Sea.  Our histories and our futures are part of this rhythm.  The Valar brought the Children of Iluvatar into a beautiful World, which was flawed by Morgoth and Sauron in turn.  Eärendil sought aid for the Twin Kindreds.  In your birthright you reunite his house and bring hope to Middle Earth.  It is all part of the ebb and flow of Ilúvatar's pattern, to be woven by Vairë into her tapestries of history in the halls of Mandos.  But know this for certain: the forces of good always foil the best-laid plans of those who would do evil; their paths always lead into the great Void of darkness to be played out empty and alone until the end of days.  And you have an important part in the mending of history, for you are the Eilenäer."

"I don't understand, Tom.  What is the ­­­­­­­Eilenäer?"

"You _are_ the Eilenäer, Rebecca. The name is Sindarin and means 'second beacon'.  Long ago, when Aulë caught the last teardrop of Telperion in your jewel, it was foretold that there would come one who would reunite the Two Kindreds of Ilúvatar.  You are that one, Rebecca."

"I don't understand."

Tom sighed and set down his pipe.  "Do you recall your list, Rebecca?  It has been a long time, but I shall now answer question Number Six.  Your mother was Gilraen the Fair of the house of Isildur of Númenor, of the line of Elros, and your father was Elrond Half-elven.  Thus do you reunite the House of Eärendil and bring new hope to the World, just as Eärendil lights the West with the Silmaril. You are the second beacon to those who dwell in Middle Earth."

Rebecca blinked.  "Those were my parents?"

Tom sat back in his chair.  "When Gilraen was a young widow she went with her son to live in Imladris.  There she raised Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who became King Elessar.  Your brother reunited the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, just as you reunite the House of Eärendil."

"But how do you know that Elrond was my father?"

"Ere I left Valinor - which was many thousands of years ago, little one, for I am a Maia - I was told of the Eilenäer.  I bore the jewel of Aulë hither and here I have kept it.  When Gilraen, your mother, sought shelter with us at the very hour of your birth, I knew.  When I sent you with Radagast I gave to him the jewel, for it was to be presented to you at the fall of the Dark One, the beginning of the Great Healing.  Had you not been the Eilenäer the jewel would have been unbearable to you."

"But it is light as air!"

"Just so, and there is the proof."

"But, Tom," she hesitated.  "Elrond was married to Celebrian, Galadriel's daughter."

"That is true, Rebecca."

"Then he… that is I… well, I'm not of noble birth, am I?"

"There are none nobler than Gilraen and Elrond, Rebecca.  You are young to the ways of the heart.  Like Finwë, Elrond had been alone for many years.  He had lived apart from Celebrian since she sailed to the Utmost West."

Rebecca was silent for many moments.  At last she said, "My mother must have been very beautiful."

"Yes, she was."

"Gandalf knew about me, didn't he?"

"He did, yes."

"And he sailed with my… with Elrond into the West?"

"Yes."

"Will he… tell him about me?"

"I will not know that until I myself sail, and that won't be for many years, Rebecca."

She sniffed.  "It probably wouldn't matter to him.  He never bothered to seek me out."

"You must be fair, Rebecca.  Gilraen left his house and bore you here in secrecy."

"Why?  Is it because she did not wish to shame King Elessar?"

"Let us say, rather, that his time was to come before yours, little one."

Rebecca stood, arms folded.  "Let us say, rather, that she was ashamed of me."  She strode to the window but was too upset to see the birds pecking about in the snow.

Tom came and stood beside her.  "You are not shamed, Rebecca.  You are the Eilenäer."

"Why would Ilúvatar choose a bastard for his second beacon?  It seems a paltry choice."

Tom laid his hand on her shoulder and said firmly, "You are _not _to use that word again." He softened and added, "Think of Radagast and Gandalf, Rebecca.  They are great powers clothed in the bodies of old men.  Who are we to judge the wisdom of Ilúvatar?"

A tear slid down Rebecca's cheek, but whether it was one of bitterness or confusion she could not tell.  "Is the King to know that I am his sister?"

"That will be your decision, Rebecca.  And the choice of the Peredhil - of Elros and Elrond - will be yours, whether to walk the mortal path or remain with the Eldar."

"I see.  May we stop my lessons today, Tom?  I would like to be… alone."

Tom kissed her brow as she grabbed her mantle and left to walk in the garden.  She had begun their morning without knowledge of her lineage and blissful.  He sighed and wished it had not been his lot to answer question Number Six.

In the days thereafter Rebecca continued to meet with Tom, to discuss her role as the Eilenäer.  Attentive as ever she was, yet there was a new understanding in her manner and it was one of melancholy.  Tom saw this and yet knew there was naught to be done.  She was growing up.

In the autumn of her twenty-first year, Tom called her to him and they walked to the Withywindle together, for it was time for him to gather the last of the season's water lilies for Goldberry.

As they walked he spoke to her of her journey.  "I fear you will be leaving us ere the first frosts of winter, little one."

She nodded.  They had spoken of this yet, now that it was before her, she was reluctant to leave the House under the Hill.  "Where am I to go then, Tom?  Where do I begin?"

"It is best, I think, that you go to Rivendell - there you will find Radagast, for he awaits you."

"Am I to tell the Lords of Rivendell who I am?" she asked, knowing that Elrond's sons Elladan and Elrohir dwelt therein and continued minding the Last Homely House after their father's departure.

"They are close friends of Radagast," replied Tom.  "They will welcome you."

"But do they know… who I am?"

"For the moment say nothing of that," said Tom.  "It is enough for them to know that you are a ward of Radagast and Tom Bombadil."

The day of her departure arrived at last.  Tom had given her a silver mare named Alfirin.  Silver-grey and gentle was she; Rebecca loved her at first sight.

She embraced Tom and Goldberry in turn.

"Fare thee well, little one," said Tom as he helped her mount Alfirin.

"I would have liked to have known my father," she said as she took the reins.

"You may yet, Rebecca.  Our roads are open to us, and you have the choice of the Peredhil before you."

"Nevertheless it seems unlikely, for I shall not sail into the West."

"Only time will tell.  And now you shall join Radagast in Rivendell?"

"Yes, I will go to him."

"Remember what you have learned, little one.  And do not forget to send word to me of your adventures!"

"I shall send all the starlings I can, Tom.  Farewell, for now!"

As she rode across the downs, Goldberry took Tom's hand.  "You know, dearest, she is not a 'little one' anymore."

Tom shook his head.  "She will always be so to me, my love.  Always."

**_Next: The Journey South_**


	10. The Journey South

**The Other Child:  The Journey South**

The sun was setting behind her as Rebecca reached the ford of Rivendell.  She crossed the river Bruinen and climbed the stony path up the steep riverbank.  Ahead of her the Misty Mountains raised their peaks to the twilit sky.  She followed the winding path until it suddenly crested and revealed a lush valley below.  Nestled therein was the great house of Imladris.  She could hear the sound of water rushing over rocks.  The air was fragrant with pine. She began her descent as the path zigged and zagged through the pines, which soon became a forest of beech and oak.  

She dismounted to lead Alfirin across a narrow bridge of stone, old as the hills themselves, which spanned a strong current of tumbling waters from the mountain.  Before her stood the Last Homely House of Rivendell.  And a tall Elf, who rode towards her on an enormous black stallion.  "Hello there!" he called to her.  He seemed to be one with the horse; she couldn't make out the features of his face till she was directly in front of him. He was extremely handsome, with long dark hair and silvery grey eyes set in a well-chiseled face.  "You must be Radagast's ward.  He told us of your coming!"

"Yes, I have come from the House under the Hill," she replied, stretching her legs from long hours of riding.

"And now you are come to the Last Homely House!" he said, dismounting and leading his horse around the side of the house to a large stable.  He glanced at her horse appreciatively.  "What a lovely creature!" he exclaimed softly as he settled his horse into its stall.  

"Her name is Alfirin - it means _Evermind_ in Sindarin," she blushed.  "Of course you already knew that,"

Elrohir laughed.  "Yes, I am familiar with that tongue." He stood back, examining the horse, and whistled his approval.  "I have seen many a steed in my day - men call me a master of horses - yet I have seldom seen her like!"

Rebecca nodded proudly.  "She is a gift to me from Tom Bombadil."

"Is she now?  Well, Tom Bombadil is a generous giver of gifts!"  Elrohir made her horse comfortable in a stall and led Rebecca from the stables.  "You must be tired and hungry after such a journey.  Let me welcome you to Rivendell!"

Rebecca looked in wonder at the great house.  She had heard of it in many tales, yet nothing prepared her for the reality.  Many terraced gardens, now quiet under the new-fallen snow, surrounded the house and its porches. Its huge oaken doors were opened by a lovely Elf maiden, who smiled and welcomed them.  "Imladria, this is Rebecca, ward of Aiwendil.  Please show her to the room that has been prepared for her."

The Elf curtseyed and Rebecca followed.  "Here it is that my mother and father lived," she thought as she passed through several halls.  At last she crossed the threshold of a lovely room.  A cheery fire crackled on the hearth and the low ceiling was crossed by carved beams of oak.  As soon as she was alone she went to the window.  A full moon made the snow glisten on the boughs of the pine and oak trees.  She could still hear the rush and fall of the river. She removed her travel-stained clothes and sunk for a moment into the deep featherbed.  Then she reluctantly rose and donned fresh garments - a long tunic and breeches.  What would Elrond think of that? she wondered defiantly.  She had no time to dwell upon this as the ringing of many bells summoned her to dinner.

Meanwhile, Elrohir found Elladan in the dining hall, entertaining a few of the Elven maidens who were in residence.  They were gathered around him, giggling appreciatively to the story he was telling.  

"Elladan, if I may have a word?"

The Elves left, laughing as they went.  Elrohir shook his head.  "Always impressing the ladies, eh?

Elladan smiled.  "You can't be as prudish as you seem, brother.  Maybe you're better off with your horses!"

"At least horses don't giggle incessantly," remarked Elrohir.  "Radagast's ward has arrived."

"Has she indeed?"

"Yes.  You would like her - she is exceedingly beautiful."

"Then I must meet her!  Where have you hidden her?"

"I've sent her with Imladria; she was weary after her long journey and in need of a respite before dinner."

"Well, no matter.  I shall meet her presently."

"Elladan," Elrohir paused.  "There is something about her, something familiar.  Disturbingly so."

"Disturbing?  But you said she was lovely."

"She is indeed.  But there is something… I can't put my finger on it."

"You're a far better judge of horses, brother!  Don't worry - if there is something to know I shall discern it."

The dining hall of Elrond's house was yet hospitable and filled with many fair folk, Elves that continued to linger in the early days of the Fourth Age.  At the head of the table sat Elladan.  Before him was spread a magnificent feast; there were tall goblets filled with Dorwinion wine and a large roast in front of him.  He was carving slices from it and passing them along to his guests.  He looked up as Rebecca entered.  "Well, this must be the ward!" he exclaimed in greeting.

"Indeed.  Rebecca, this is Elladan, master of Rivendell," said Radagast.

Rebecca curtseyed and took her seat beside Radagast.  She looked shyly at her host and was surprised to find that he was an identical twin to Elrohir, yet his manner was more robust.  She also sensed a challenge unspoken in his clear silver eyes.  

When the meal was over Elves came and cleared the table, while the rest of the guests adjourned to the Hall of Fire.  A bright fire was blazing in a great hearth, while tall Elves played upon harps and lutes, their music soft and soothing.  Elladan took a seat and gestured for Radagast and Rebecca to do the same.  Rebecca did so, feeling uneasy in the company of this son of Elrond.  Elladan was not so gentle as Elrohir; there was something keen in his manner, as if he was trying to pierce her very thoughts.  Golden firelight played upon his dark hair and he smiled at her.  "You are welcome here; whether you require rest or food or singing and story-telling, you will find it in Rivendell."

"So I have heard in many stories," she replied.

"Ah, yes, Tom Bombadil is a great teller of tales," he agreed.  "Yet he does not often leave his own doorstep, save to go abroad for water lilies, or so 'tis said of old."

"Tom does prefer his own corner of the world, yet he is well-versed in the lore of many places," she said, feeling oddly defensive.

"Indeed?  And you, have you kept to his corner of the world as well or have you been much abroad?"

Radagast spoke for her.  "Many years ago we spent time in the halls of King Thranduil, in the last days of the War."

"We've also been to Isengard, Uncle," she added.  "But you are right, master, that I have spent most of my days with Tom Bombadil."

"Then you must have had an interesting time of it!" he laughed.  "'Tis a shame you've been a near neighbor and never visited us before.  You have missed the finest days, I fear, for Elrond is now departed and with him the magic of Vilya."

His words struck near the mark, for Rebecca would have loved to see Rivendell in its glory, even more so with her father in residence.  "There is magic here yet," she said, for lack of something better.

Elrohir joined them presently. A huge dog, shaggy and iron-grey, followed him and promptly lay at his feet.  Rebecca cried out in delight and knelt down beside the animal.  "What is his name, sir?"

"This is Aeglos.  It means _Snowthorn_ in Sindarin.  But of course you already knew that," he added with a wink.  

She giggled as the dog licked her face.  "It was also the name of Gil-galad's spear," she noted.

Elladan raised his eyebrows.  "Ah, you are a mistress of Elf-lore, are you?"

Radagast laughed.  "It's Tom Bombadil to blame for that.  Rebecca has toiled long in mastering the Reckoning of Years."

Elladan nodded, impressed, and smiled as Elrohir and Rebecca played with the dog.  They were as kindred spirits, both sitting on the floor, oblivious to decorum.  He grew thoughtful as he watched them.

At last the fatigue from her long journey overcame Rebecca, and she excused herself to retire for the evening.

"Your ward is fair, indeed, Radagast!  I wonder that you have kept her such a secret for these score of years!" said Elladan, his eyes following Rebecca as she left the hall.

"'Tis Tom who has done that, and for good reason," replied Radagast.  "Yet she belongs to the world now, and shall have her share of it, mark my words!"

The following morning Rebecca reclined with a sigh in a comfortable chair overlooking one of the many beautiful gardens.  New snow had fallen upon the evergreens, making them dazzling in the winter sun.  She was dimly aware that she was being watched.  She saw a figure move in one of the large windows facing her from the other side of the garden.  It was Elladan.  He had kept a close eye upon her since her arrival.  It made her uncomfortable.  She must speak with Radagast about their departure; the sooner the better.  Now that she'd seen it she was ready to leave the house of Elrond.  It was lovely but held no lasting comfort for her.

Elladan turned from the window to Radagast.  He occupied one of the old leather chairs beside the hearth, where a cheery fire crackled.  Elladan took the opposing chair, sinking into it with a sigh.

"Come, now, Elladan, you move like an old wizard!  Surely your affairs do not weigh you down so heavily?"

He smiled in return.  "Nay, Aiwendil.  All is well here, save the absence of Elrond, which is dearly felt, I assure you.  No, it is not Rivendell I wish to discuss.  It is your ward."

"Indeed?" Radagast lit his pipe.  "Does she concern you?"

"She concerns me very much, sir."  Elladan sat back and made a tent of his fingers.  His astute glance reminded Radagast of his father.  And, as Elrond would have done, he waited several minutes before at last saying, "It is obvious to me that she is sister to Aragorn."

Radagast nodded.  "Your insight does you justice, Elladan."

"The King knows nothing of this?"

"No, he does not."

"He will, the moment he sets eyes upon her.  His vision is keen."

"That will be his affair, Elladan."

"It will upset him terribly, Aiwendil."

"That cannot be helped.  I assure you that her role is as important as his, in its way."

"Do you not think that I am upset as well?"

"Perhaps you would like to expand upon that?"

"It is clear that her sire is not Arathorn, father to Aragorn."

"Is it?"

"She resembles her mother, yet there is something about her that is not of the Dúnedain. She has the blood of the Eldar Kindred, plainly."

"Again, your discernment does not fail you, Elladan."

"Let us stop this mincing of words, Radagast.  Do I, too, have an unexpected sister?"

Radagast drew a deep breath.  He had been prepared for this.  "Aye, you do."

Elladan turned his gaze upon the fire.  "My brother will not see this, of course.  He is more interested in the beasts, as are you.  Ought I tell him?"

"That is for you to decide, my friend."

"Aye, but I would take your counsel in this matter, for I am thinking none too clearly."

"The child's part in history is destined to be great, Elladan.  Perhaps that is enough for you to know, for now."

Elladan shrugged.  "I knew my father to be an Elf of high principles in all matters, yet I was not blind.  He was ever lonely during his years here, after our mother left for the Western Shores.  And I had seen many generations of Dúnedain women who sought shelter here.  There was never one lovelier than Gilraen the Fair."

"Whatever your father's actions were, the girl is blameless, Elladan."

"I blame her not, sir.  But it will be better, perhaps, if I speak to her of this matter openly.  She is unsure of herself here, that is plain."

"She is very young and has not the experience to make her more sure of herself."

"Nevertheless I will speak to her, and to Elrohir.  I would conceal nothing from him - I never have."

"As you wish, but I beg you to approach the subject gently with Rebecca."

"Of course.  I would have her know that I bear her no ill will in the matter of her… lineage."

"Shall I summon her for this, Elladan?"

"No.  No, I will seek her myself, for I have just seen her in the library.  She spends a great deal of time there, pouring over ancient tomes."

"She is not yet comfortable in this house."

"Then I shall make her so."

Elladan took his leave of Radagast, who lit his pipe and waited.

Rebecca was, as he predicted, in the library.  A great, dusty book was spread before her.  Idly she flipped its pages.  She looked up with a start as Elladan entered.  

"We have the finest archives in Middle Earth, save those of Minis Tirith," he noted.

"I cannot judge their collection but this one is very fine," admitted Rebecca.

"What is it that you read?" he asked, sitting down beside her at the table.  

"They are records of the First Age," she said.

He looked at the tome before her.  "Ah, it is the tale of Eärendil the Mariner.  A suitable subject for your perusal," he said.

"How so?" she asked, unconsciously shrinking away from him.

He sat back, making a tent of his fingers, as was his wont.  "He is your grandfather, is he not?"

Her eyes flew wide.  "Yes," she whispered, seeing no way to evade the question.

"He is mine as well, you know."

"Yes," she said again.  She wished at this moment to be back in the House under the Hill, far away from this Elf with piercing silver eyes.

"It is an awkward meeting, I grant you, but I welcome you as a sister, Rebecca," he began, never dropping his gaze from her own.  

Her eyes shifted back to the book open before her.  "I don't know what to say, sir,"

she replied honestly.

Her simple demeanor charmed him and he laid his hand over hers upon the table.  "You need say nothing.  The matter is known to us and it is one we accept.  I speak for my brother as well."

"You are too kind," murmured Rebecca, feeling her face grow hot.  

"I sense that you feel uneasy with me; let me assure you there is no need.  I hope, in time, you will come to see me as a brother."

Rebecca knew his heart was kind and she nodded gratefully.  It was certainly a better reception than she had hoped for.

That evening, she stood upon the old stone bridge, listening to the waters rush below her feet.  She was so lost in thought that she did not hear the approach of Elrohir.  He laid a hand upon her shoulder.  She turned and saw the kindness in his eyes.  He pulled her into a silent, gentle embrace.  He knew, and was not against her.  That meant more to her than all of Elladan's eloquence.

They were silent for many moments, then he pointed into the night sky.  "Mark you there - the Flammifer of Westernesse.  Our grandsire rides upon Vingilot tonight."

The next morning, Rebecca and Radagast sat together in the library.  She watched the birds outside the window.  "What was he like, Uncle?"

Radagast lit his pipe.  "Elrond Half-Elven?  What was he like indeed - that is a rather sizeable question."

Rebecca shrugged.  "Maybe so.  I only know of him through the annals of history.  But they are cold recitations, they do not tell of his true character or his heart."

"Aye, well, as to those I think only Elrond knows for certain.  He was and is a complex being.  In all of Middle Earth there was none greater in matters of wisdom and lore.  He was present at the great Battle of Wrath, where the Valar threw down the walls of Thangorodrim.  At the end of the First Age he chose the path of the Eldar; his brother's choice grieved him, of course, but each had his own destiny and Elrond recognized that.  He founded Imladris with a remnant of the Noldor who remained in Middle Earth.  He stood beside Gil-galad when he fell in battle with Sauron and he counseled Isildur to unmake the one ring. "

"Yes, Uncle, but those are all items of history.  I know them already."

"I think you must know an Elf's history before you can understand the Elf, Rebecca.  Gil-galad gave to Elrond the ring Vilya, mightiest of the three Elven rings, and with it he created the magic that was Rivendell.  His love for his brother made him especially protective of the Dúnedain; after the fall of Isildur he gave the women and children of the royal line shelter and protection."

Rebecca sniffed.  "Yes, he certainly protected my mother."

Radagast sighed and laid his long hand upon her shoulder.  "You are understandably upset, Rebecca, for you knew neither of your parents during their time in Middle Earth.  I promise you that Elrond did not trifle in anything.  Be assured that he loved your mother dearly."

She sat long in thought.  "Then, perhaps, it was she who is at fault for fleeing him and bearing me in secrecy."

Radagast shook his head.  "There is naught to gain by assigning fault or blame in this matter.  Gilraen thought she was doing the best thing, for all involved.  You must respect that without bitterness."

"You are asking a great deal of me in that, Uncle."

"Aye, but no more than I know you to be capable of.  Your destiny is in the hands of Ilúvatar, Rebecca.  Look to that and do not despise your past."

She leaned into him and his strength.  With a sigh she asked, "Whither do we travel now, Uncle?"

"Our road leads south, to Ithilien, little one."

Ithilien, she thought.  A land of waterfalls, forests and Prince Legolas.  "Yes, Uncle, let's go to Ithilien now."

**_Next: _****Ithilien, Fairest of the Westlands**


	11. Ithilien, Fairest of the Westlands

**The Other Child:  Ithilien, Fairest of the Westlands**

_Note:  A great many thanks to the Encyclopedia of Arda, http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/, which is the most incredible resource for all things Tolkien!_

Between the great Anduin and the desolate lands of Mordor stretched the green oasis of Ithilien, renown for its flowering meadows, pine-draped cliffs and waterfalls.  Behind the refuge of Henneth Annûn, aptly named the Window of the Sunset, were stationed garrisons of soldiers who made their fortress in the many caverns behind the falls, as they had done in the days of the War.

The shadows of Mordor dissolved, many pioneers from Gondor had sought the woodland havens to settle in Ithilien.  Their lord Faramir dwelt near to Henneth Annûn, in a sunlight valley in Emyn Arnen, the range of hills that divided northern and southern Ithilien.  Here he held court in halls fair to look upon, with many windows and terraces opening onto gardens in the style of Rivendell.  It was here, on a fine evening in May that he spoke with his neighbor, Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Silvan Elves.  

"And how are your people settling, my friend?" he asked as he poured the Elf a goblet of wine.

"Well enough, I think," replied Legolas. "There is much to be done, especially in the South where the Fords of Poros sustained heavy fighting with the Haradrim.  But there are few scars the skills of my people cannot mend."

"It is well for us that it is so, Legolas.  I am content with our camps in the North, but I am concerned for our southernmost settlements."

"You yet fear the Haradrim, despite the King's treaties?"

"They have ever been our foes, and Ithilien is a sweet prize indeed."

"Your soldiers and my archers are more than a match for them, my lord."

"Perhaps, but I am a student of history.  In the days of the Kings, the great general Eärnil defeated the Haradrim beyond the Fords and went on to victory over the Wainriders in the North in the Battle of the Camp.  I am named for the son of King Ondoher, who fell in that battle.  Nine hundred years later, the Steward Túrin and Folcwine of Rohan defended the Fords; Folcwine lost his sons in the fighting.  It is a bitter place and a weak link, albeit our armor is stronger thanks to your efforts."

"My archers now dwell near the Haudh in Gwanur, where the great mound honors the sons of Folcwine.  No enemy shall pass them."

"Yet since their defeat, we may assume the Haradrim are thirsting for revenge," said Faramir.

"We have scoured the land thoroughly but there are still colonies of Orcs hiding in the deep places of the earth.  These, too, pose a threat to our peace."

"I am more concerned about the Men who walk abroad in the light of the sun.  The Haradrim have always been our enemies and there are tribes of Easterlings that Alatar was never able to entreat. The Battle of the Camp was a fierce two-prong assault, led by the Haradrim and the Wainriders.  Our enemies have never forgotten this defeat, nor, I suspect, their alliance of old."

"You anticipate a similar assault, my lord?"

"Perhaps.  The Haradrim and Easterlings will never be our allies, however many treaties we may make."

At that moment the Lady Éowyn entered, shaking her fair head.  "It is not for me to avoid the topic of war, yet I fear you dwell too much upon it, my lords.  I would have you speak of healing, and of the spring growth already evident in Ithilien."

Faramir lovingly took her hand.  "It shall be as you wish, my love."

Éowyn turned her fine eyes upon Legolas.  "Surely we must speak of love as readily as we do of war.  Is the Lady Dolressa in your company, Legolas?"

The Elf blushed slightly.  "Aye, she is."

Faramir laughed.  "You have been betrothed forever, my friend!  Truly it is the longest engagement in the history of Middle Earth!"

"My kindred are long-lived, Master Faramir.  We see no reason to rush into these matters…"

"Rush in?  Sir, it has been eight years since the Company of Nine marched from Imladris!"

Éowyn hushed her husband good-naturedly.  "Dearest, you must not harp upon our friend.  Such jests only drive him further from his vows!"

Legolas laughed self-consciously and excused himself.  As he left the hall, he gazed up into the starry night.  Why _did_ he postpone his nuptials?  Dolressa was lovely and they had the blessing of their parents.  It was a matter he would attend to presently, he told himself firmly.

Legolas proceeded on the path to his camp and had not gone far when he heard a splash.  Wondering which of his kinsmen were abroad, he followed the sound.  Then came another splash and a distinct curse, in a decidedly female voice.  Now he was intrigued and silently crept to the edge of the river.  

A figure stood before him, up to her knees in water as she held up her skirts from getting wet.  Long curling tresses hid her face from him, but everything else he saw suggested great beauty.  He coughed slightly, causing her to look up.  He smiled involuntarily - her face was no disappointment.

Her eyes opened wide.  "Oh, it's you!" she cried simply, dropping her skirts in surprise.

"Er, yes, it is… and you are…?" he asked as he extended his hand to her.  Shyly she took it and stepped to the bank, the hem of her skirts sodden.  

"Don't you recognize me?"

"Would that I did," he replied earnestly.  "I would not forget a face such as yours!"

She blushed scarlet at this and said, "I am Rebecca."

Legolas thought for a moment, then his eyes flew wide.  "The little ward?"

She smiled.  "Aye.  I suppose you've not seen me since I… grew up."

"No indeed!  It's a pleasure to see you again," he hesitated awkwardly, then asked, "What were you doing in the pool?"

She laughed, a soft, musical scale of notes. "Oh, how embarrassing!  I usually wear trews, you see, but here I am in skirts because we were to meet Prince Faramir but Radagast grew weary and we decided to camp for the night further upstream, and I went exploring and I spotted a speckled trout in the pool when I…" she became aware that she was speaking without pause and that he was still holding her hand.

So did the Lady Dolressa, who appeared at that moment upon the bank with Legolas' kinsmen, Haldir and Tessel.  "Here you are, dearest!  You are done with your dreary meeting, then?"

Legolas released Rebecca's hand.  Now it was his turn to flush, and flush he did.  "Er, yes.  Yes, indeed, I have."

"And who is _this_?" she asked, a certain ring to her voice warning Legolas to tread cautiously.

"Why, this is Rebecca, ward to Aiwendil the Brown." 

"My, it's the little girl!  How do you do, sweet one?"

Rebecca had never heard that term of endearment with resentment until that moment.  She looked at the other Elf, who put forth his hand eagerly.

"I am Haldir, second in command to Prince Legolas," he said, shaking her hand warmly.

Tessel pushed past Haldir and embraced Rebecca in a brotherly hug.  "Can you imagine it, my lord?  This is the skinny little thing who used to bruise her knees on the bark of our beech trees!  How you have grown!"

Rebecca smiled widely.  "Well met indeed, Tessel!  How does King Thranduil get along without you?"

"He has sent me along with his son, to keep an eye on him!  So far he's been little trouble…"

"So far!" laughed Haldir.  "My lord Celeborn has sent me on a similar mission.  We expect great things of you, cousin!"

Legolas laughed.  "I shall do my best to live up to your expectations.  But come, Rebecca, where is Aiwendil?"

"I left him far up the river from here.  He was greatly fatigued by our journey from Imladris and is waiting for his supper."

"Well, let's find him and give him more suitable accommodations!  My people have made a great settlement here, not far down the river from Henneth Annûn; you shall be our honored guests!"

It was agreed that Tessel would go with her and retrieve the wizard.  Haldir was eager to join them and did so with pleasure.  Legolas noticed that he followed Rebecca very closely.  

"How nice it will be to have a child in our camp," said Dolressa as the trio disappeared into the forest.  She took Legolas' arm firmly and led him away.

"Indeed," agreed Legolas, albeit he would by no means have called Rebecca a child now.

They found Radagast snoring soundly on a bed of soft pine needles beside a quiet eddy in the river.  "By my beard!" exclaimed the wizard when they woke him.  "What is one of the Galadrim doing in these parts?"

Haldir laughed.  "The same as my comrade from Eryn Lasgalen," he replied.  "We are here to help Prince Legolas with the restoration of Ithilien."

"Ah, so.  Then Ithilien will truly become once again the fairest of the Westlands.  But come, let us hasten to your camp for I would delight in a meal and a warm bed!"

They proceeded along the path beside the river, scrambling down the difficult and rocky trail near Henneth Annûn, much to Radagast's discomfort.  The river grew calmer as it flowed away from the falls, yet the roar of falling water could still be heard, reminding Rebecca of Rivendell.  The Silvan camp was very much like Thranduil's kingdom, a blending of cliff and forest, with well appointed caves opening unto a series of ladders and flets throughout the trees.  Radagast said this was in the style of Lothlorien; Rebecca thought they were lovely.

Haldir led them beneath the boughs of a hall of mighty oaks, where the Elves had set up a great dining table.  Here sat Legolas, who hailed Radagast with great cheer.  "Aiwendil!  You have come at last to my halls!"

"Aye, and I hope I shall find them as hospitable as your father's," he said, cocking a bushy eyebrow as he doffed his pointed hat.

"Indeed!  We keep at least one barrel of Dorwinion wine for occasions such as this!"

At his request carafes of the wine were produced.  They made themselves comfortable at the long table beneath the canopy of oak trees, whose branches laced above them and enmeshed the stars.  Torches were lit; minstrels came forth with their harps and lutes.  Rebecca inhaled deeply; the air was redolent with pine and the wine was heady.  She was delighted to be enjoying Silvan hospitality instead of camping on pine needles beside the river.  She forgot that the hem of her dress was damp as she leaned back in her chair and beamed at Haldir, who continually engaged her in conversation.  Tessel laughed at his comrade and the evening was jolly.  Rebecca was so content that she didn't mind that she could not overhear the Prince's conversation with Radagast.  In fact, she was enjoying herself so much that she failed to notice when the Prince glanced her way.

Tessel and Haldir were discussing trees and their merits.  Tessel preferred the native beech of Eryn Lasgalen whereas Haldir naturally promoted the mallorn.

"We shall plant both here, cousin, and see which provides for the better flet!" exclaimed Haldir.

At this Rebecca laughed merrily.  Legolas looked over again; her laughter was like a birdsong and drew his attention.  

This greatly displeased Dolressa. After a particularly musical peal from Rebecca, she turned to Radagast and remarked pointedly, "It is so pleasant to see the girl enjoying herself!  It truly gladdens the heart to see a child at play!"

"Indeed," agreed Radagast, well aware that the lady's heart was far from glad.

"My people have several camps throughout Ithilien and are hard at work," said Legolas, continuing their discussion and trying to steer clear of Dolressa's pique.  

Radagast nodded.  "Much effort is needed to heal the wounds of the Enemy."

"That is so," agreed Legolas.  "Even now, my comrade Gimli and folk from under the Mountain are hard at work in Minas Tirith, repairing its great gates with mithril and beautifying the stonework of the city."

"Then Minas Tirith is in good hands and the King could ask for no better," smiled the wizard.  "The folk from the Mountain are sturdy and true, renown for their craft."

"Indeed," said Legolas.  "I hope to welcome Gimli here after he has completed his labors.  While the Elves have no need of masonry, Prince Faramir and his people would appreciate their handiwork.  There has been talk of restoring Osgiliath."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Radagast.  "These are glad tidings.  A great new age of Arda has begun."

"For a time," replied Legolas, a trace of melancholy in his soft voice.  "But all passes, Radagast, for such as us."

"All things pass," agreed Radagast.  "Yet what goes before paves the way for what will come, until the end of days.  No step is in vain."

"Perhaps," sighed the Elf.  "I am well pleased with our work here in the woods, yet my heart is ever called to the Sea."

Radagast nodded.  "The yearning of your people has been awakened in your heart, my friend.  There is naught for it but to endure."

"Yes, I suppose," replied Legolas, studying his goblet of wine.  "But we must speak of lighter things," he said at last.  "What are your plans, Aiwendil?"

The wizard shrugged.  "Circumstance directs our steps, Rebecca and I.  We work, we wait for signs, and we work again.  At present our endeavors lead us here."

"Why is that?  Are you to help us with the restoration of Ithilien?"

"As best we may, yet we are on another mission, my friend.  We are seeking the Entwives.  We have come from Rivendell, whose archives have pointed us in this direction. Many centuries ago they dwelt in the plains to the Northwest and we must follow their trail, as old and as cold as it has become."

Legolas shook his head.  "Then your trial is much greater than mine, Aiwendil, for my heart tells me they are no more in Middle Earth."

"That may be, or may not be.  Only time and toil will tell.  Yet search for them we must, for it is written of old that Middle Earth cannot be wholly renewed until the Ents are strong once again."

"It has been many years, even in the reckoning of my people, that there have been Entings.  Your quest seems to me impossible."

"Many things may seem so without being so, Legolas.  Who would have thought that the sedentary Ents could have been stirred to such wrath as to destroy the works of Saruman at Isengard?  Yet mobilize they did, and observe the results!"

Legolas smiled.  "I wish you and your ward well, Aiwendil, and if the assistance of my people will avail you, you shall have it."

"I thank you, Legolas, and I accept your offer.  I am delighted to meet a member of the Galadrim here; there are none in Middle Earth who have a finer knowledge of the lore of trees.  I beg you to lend me the services of Haldir."

"I shall do so," replied Legolas, glancing towards his cousin, who was in animated discussion with Rebecca and Tessel.  "It seems he will be well pleased to accompany your ward," he added as he watched Haldir closely.

"Indeed," smiled the old wizard.  It gladdened his heart to hear Rebecca laugh; too often was she somber.  "Of what do you speak, Rebecca?"

"We talk of trees, sir," she responded as Tessel refilled her goblet.  Our friends cannot agree on the perfect forest."

"That is easily answered," said Legolas.  "The best forest is the one which you call home."

"Yes, my lord, but each Elf claims a different home – Eryn Lasgalen and Lothlorien."

"Nay, Ithilien is their home for the present!" laughed Legolas.

"Aye, and I say it needs mellryn," insisted Haldir.

"It already has beech, and that is enough!" cried Tessel.

"What say you, lady?" asked Legolas, leaning his elbows on the table and smiling at her across the candlelight.

She glanced at the boughs overhead.  "I like the oak, sir, for it is both sturdy and beautiful in all seasons."

"Ah, but you have not seen the mallorn when its leaves are golden and its boughs are full of flowers!" protested Haldir.  "We shall travel to Lorien, lady, and hear your opinion then!"

"First you must complete your work in Ithilien, cousin," Legolas pointed out.  "Aiwendil is in need of your assistance."

"Only too gladly!" cried Haldir, albeit he directed his smile at Rebecca and not the wizard.

"It's settled then," said Radagast, rising.  "And now, my lord, we must retire for we mean to meet with Faramir on the morrow."

"A pleasant evening," said Legolas with a bow.  "My steward will show you to your quarters."

Rebecca curtseyed and followed Radagast and their guide.

Many eyes watched them as they departed; those of the men were smiling.  Those of the Lady Dolressa were squinting with disapproval.

"A happy meeting!" beamed Haldir.  "Who knew the hinterlands would offer such company as this?"

Dolressa sniffed.  Legolas laughed at his cousin.  "I am pleased you find us to your liking!  But truly, Haldir, you are to aid Aiwendil and it shall not be an easy task he sets for you."

"A mallorn has flowered in our midst, cousin!  What care I of hard work, if it be in her presence?"

Tessel rolled his eyes and seized a fresh carafe.  "You should go easy on the wine, friend.  You are drunk enough, I think."

"Nay, Tessel, I am only rejoicing in a pleasant turn of fate.  It was with regret that I departed Lothlorien to supervise our cousin in this distant frontier and now I find it full of charming diversion!"

"Do not let such charm as there is divert your diligence," intoned Dolressa.  "The wizard will put you to the test."

"Aye, and Haldir shall not disappoint!" exclaimed the Elf, raising his goblet in a toast.

"Perhaps I should assist Aiwendil as well and chaperon this whelp," suggested Tessel.

"No, I need you on the southern border," replied Legolas.  "We must undertake a great deal of forestry there.  But I shall join your party, Haldir, on its first day.  We shall examine Faramir's maps and acquaint Aiwendil with the terrain as best as we may."

Dolressa looked mutinous.  "Surely you have other matters of import to attend; Haldir is an able guide."

"That he is, my love, but he does not yet know this land as well as I.  I have been in Ithilien these five years and can guide our guests in their first steps.  I should like to be present when they discuss their ideas with Faramir tomorrow."

With a decided "hmpf," the lady rose from her seat and left the hall.  

Legolas sighed but opted not to follow.  The feast was well underway and he was its host.  So he told himself as he poured another goblet.

Tessel did likewise and shook his head.  He would not speak to his prince on something as personal as his lady, but he sensed all was not well.  He believed Dolressa's pride was rivaled only by Fëanor of old.  He avoided the subject and asked, "What is it that Aiwendil seeks, sire?"

Legolas sighed and leaned back in his chair.  "You are familiar with Entish lore?"

"I am," said Haldir.

"Very well.  There is an old passage from the Valaquenta – how does it go? 'When the Children awake then the thought of Yavanna will awake also and it will summon spirits from afar to go among the kelvar and the olvar and dwell therein and be held in reverence.  These Eldest will guard the forests and the gardens of Middle Earth, and their fruit will blossom in a land renewed.'"

Haldir nodded.  "My people know these words; they are older than our forests in Lorien."

"So spoke Manwë of old.  These are the words that guide Aiwendil.  He is a Maia of Yavanna and it is his lot to build bridges between the kelvar and olvar and the free peoples.  To truly succeed in this mission, he must locate the Entwives so that Middle Earth can be fully renewed."  

Haldir frowned.  "Then his lot is not a happy one, for the Entwives are gone forever from Middle Earth!"

Tessel nodded.  "We have had no word of them for these thousand years, at least.

Surely we would have heard of them in Greenwood if they had passed that way."

"Aiwendil believes the trail leads here," replied Legolas.  "But I fear it is a dim trail indeed.  It may be that you are right, but he will keep to his work until there is no hope left."

Haldir sighed.  "Then you have set an impossible task for me, if I am to be his guide."

Tessel laughed.  "How quickly you forget your mallorn, my friend!"

"Nay, it is only that I am loathe to disappoint her!" cried Haldir.

"We have faced worse tasks in our day," said Legolas.  "Let us comb these woods as best as we may.  The land speaks in many tongues and can provide clues no matter how many ages have passed since they were made."

Haldir and Legolas continued to discuss possibilities.  Tessel grew silent and pondered the stars peeking through the boughs overhead.  He did not envy Haldir's assignment, and a sense of melancholy overtook him.  For many years the Entwives had existed only as legends.  To seek them now seemed folly indeed.  Yet seek they must to fulfill Yavanna's promise, for the renewal of Middle Earth was at stake.

**_Next:  Into the Woods, Again_**

****


	12. Into the Woods, Again

Into the Woods, Again 

A small party was gathered in the library of Prince Faramir.  The morning sunlight glistened on the hair of Legolas and Haldir, who bent their fair heads over a large map with Faramir and Radagast.  Rebecca sat by the open window, listening to the songs of the birds.  

Éowyn entered the room, carrying a large silver tray with a pitcher.  "Merry sent the lemons," she explained as she poured tall tumblers of lemonade for her guests.  "They come from Sam's garden which, by all accounts, is the finest in all the lands of the King."

"I'm not surprised," smiled Radagast.  "Lady Galadriel made him a gift of the soil of Lorien, when it was still full of her magic."

"Magic lingers there yet," replied Haldir.  "My Lord Celeborn is not without power."

"Nevertheless it was Galadriel who was the gardener," said Radagast gently.  "Many things have passed with the Ringbearers' departure."

Rebecca disliked this kind of talk, of which she had heard much in Rivendell.  "But many great things remain and are yet to be done, Uncle, or our mission is pointless," she noted.

Radagast sighed and smiled at her.  "Of course, my love. Our business is at hand and Yavanna herself holds it dear."

"Then let us be about it," said Legolas as he bent over the map. "According to Treebeard and Entish lore, the Entwives had great gardens here," he said, pointing to the expanse between Eryn Lasgalen and Northern Ithilien. That would have been in the days of my youth and I remember them not, save in song."

"Nor do I," said Radagast.  "Gandalf and I arrived after the War of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves.  In that battle, Sauron blasted the lands of the Entwives against the advance of the armies.  Their lush gardens are known evermore as the Brown Lands.  His scorched earth tactics left nothing standing."

"Perhaps not even the Entwives," mused Faramir.  "Isn't it most likely, albeit tragic, that they perished in the fires?"

"No, I think not all of them," replied Radagast.  "Remember, we arrived after the battle, and we were sent to aid the peoples of Middle Earth against the threat of Darkness.  At the time of our sailing, Yavanna entrusted to me my mission.  Early in the morning of the world did she create the Ents; she would have spoken of their passing rather than instruct me to reunite them after the fall of the Dark One."

"Would that she had told you of their location," sighed Faramir.  "If they fled Sauron's destruction they may have flown to many lands, save Mordor to the East."

"Did not Merry suggest he and the hobbits take up the search?" asked Éowyn.  "Treebeard requested they send word, for he believed the Entwives would have loved the gentle gardens of the Shire."

"I have spoken long with Sam; he knows the Shire better than any Hobbit of this age," replied Radagast.  "His cousin – Halfast, I believe - saw an elm tree walking beyond the North Moors. It was no elm tree but, alas, it was not an Entwife either!  It was an Ent, one Fingolad by name, who had long ago left Fangorn to search, in fact, for the Entwives.  After I spoke with Sam, Tom and I combed the Old Forest and found a small band of Ents dwelling there.  Fingolad assured me that the Entwives had not come their way.  The Great Wood stretched long ago from Fangorn to the Old Forest, you know.  Fingolad and his band remembered some of the trees and decided to remain there, as the trees were greatly in need of herding, albeit they have given the Ents a great deal of trouble.  Much less now that Old Man Willow sleeps."

"No," Radagast continued.  "I do not believe that the Entwives traveled over the mountains.  I believe that, when they fled into the Wilds, they came to pollen-rich Ithilien and its meadows.  None would have marked their coming.  They posed no threat to Sauron so he would not have taken note of them.  They did not travel north to your woods, Legolas, for your people would have met them.  And we know they did not go west, or they would have been united with Fangorn and we would be saved the trouble of searching!"

"But men of Gondor dwelt in Ithilien for many a year after the War of the Alliance, before the Nazgul took Minas Ithil and we named it Minas Morgul," said Faramir.  "Surely walking trees would have been a curiosity to them, yet there is no mention of them in our histories."

Radagast smiled. "All of us are woodsmen here and accustomed to the ways of the forest.  Legolas and Haldir have long dwelt in secrecy in the depths of their woods and you, my prince, have led battalions of soldiers from your hidden fortress at Henneth Annûn.  One who wishes to may remain in peace and secrecy hidden among tree and stone, particularly if you resemble a tree to begin with."

"The Entwives must have felt a great deal of mistrust after the destruction of their gardens, Uncle," added Rebecca thoughtfully.  "I doubt if they would have initiated contact with other peoples."

"If they dwelt in Ithilien, which they may have done," conceded Faramir. "Why then have they not come forward?  All of Middle Earth heard the songs of the eagles heralding Sauron's defeat."

"What if they could not hear the songs, sir?" asked Rebecca.  "Treebeard said many of his Ents have become 'tree-ish' of late and only he was able to rouse them.  Maybe the Entwives are fast asleep, like old Leaflock in Fangorn?"

"Perhaps they are, if they still exist," said Legolas.  "But we must find them to wake them."

They turned again to the map.  "Most of the northern country here is rocky and not to an Entwife's liking, I'd imagine," said Faramir.  "Yet there are meadows closer to Emyn Arnen and they increase in size and number to the South.  Perhaps we should concentrate our search in this area."

"The land becomes rather hilly again as it approaches the Fords of Poros," remarked Legolas.  "My people are at work there, near the Haudh in Gwanur.  We may travel south and fan out here," he pointed to the map below the Emyn Arnen.  "What say you, cousin?"

Haldir looked at the map. "I will go wherever you direct, my lord," he replied.  "I think I could tell an Ent from a tree of many years, even if they have grown to resemble each other."

"My men will help also, as best as they may," said Faramir.  "How many would you like?"

Radagast shook his head and smiled at Rebecca.  The white gem of Aulë glittered in the hollow of her throat.  "I thank you, my prince, but I believe we can make a beginning with our little party of three."

Faramir bowed.  "As you wish, sir, but know that we stand ready to aid you, if need be."

"Let my folk give you provisions," added Legolas.  "We may send you lightly on your travels and receive you in our camp to the south upon your arrival there."

"I would beg your leave to accompany them, my love," said Éowyn unexpectedly.  "Do not forget your words to me in the Houses of Healing: we will make a garden in fair Ithilien, and all things will grow with joy if the White Lady comes.  Perhaps it is time for me to go abroad fulfill your promise."

Radagast smiled.  "The White Lady of Rohan is indeed welcome!" he replied.

"Very well," agreed Faramir.  "But be of haste in your errand, for I do not wish to part from my lady for long!"

That afternoon they left the camp of the Silvan Elves, after being well provided with food and necessities.  They set out on foot as their horses would have been of little use in the hilly terrain.  For a time they traveled due south until they reached the foothills of Emyn Arnen. Here the land opened unto vast meadows girded by forests of pine and poplar, beech and oak.  The Ephel Duath raised their craggy peaks to the east and the mighty Anduin glittered nearby.  To the west, across the river, lay the vast plains and woods of Lebennin.  

"Here we shall part for a time," declared Radagast as they stopped to rest.  "I propose that the ladies explore the land along the river, while Haldir and I travel east beyond the Harad Road and find what we may.  We will meet at nightfall, here," he said, pointing to the map.  "This spot, where the River Erui meets the Anduin. We will camp there tonight."

Haldir did not seem to care for the arrangement but the wizard's mind was made up and he had to yield.  He cast a backward glance as they departed.  Radagast chuckled.  "You shall see her ere long, my friend.  Put your mind to the task at hand!"

Rebecca and Éowyn ambled through the meadowland, chatting easily while they were about their errand.  Wildflowers grew in great drifts of yellow, purple and white, reaching to their knees.  Glad she was of exchanging her dress for more practical trews.  She was pleased to note that Éowyn had done the same.

"It reminds me of my days as Dernhelm," remarked the lady as they waded through the flowers.  "It was so long ago, indeed, almost a decade now, and yet it often seems as if it were yesterday."

"Tell me about those days, Éowyn, for I long to know of your adventures!" Rebecca said eagerly.  

Éowyn frowned.  "Yes, I had an adventure, no mistake.  The memory of it lies hard with me.  It was as Dernhelm that I beheld the death of my beloved king and after…"

"You slew the dreaded Nazgul lord!  I have heard it in song!  How brave you are!" cried Rebecca.  

"Name him not," replied Éowyn darkly.  "It is a foul memory.  We will not speak of that, but of the bravery of Meriadoc the Magnificent and of my brother and the lord Aragorn, now King of Gondor and Arnor!"

Rebecca started at the name of her brother.  "Yes, I would like to know of them.  They say that Aragorn is mighty indeed."

"That he is.  Mighty and yet humble.  Gentle is perhaps the better word.  I have never met his like."  For many moments Éowyn was silent with her own thoughts.  Then she continued.  "Before he healed me I sought my own destruction in war.  Afterwards, I knew peace, such as I had never known before.  I have exchanged my shield and sword for a garden hoe!  Now I love all things that grow and are not barren."

She laughed merrily and Rebecca was cheered.  They continued on while Éowyn talked about Merry and her brother Éomer.  "Treebeard calls Merry hasty but he would deem my brother far worse!  He is ever going here and there in his kingdom and to Gondor.  Such a king my people have not known since Helm the Hammerhand!"

"It must be wonderful to have such a brother," said Rebecca, well aware of the irony of her words. "You must miss him!"

"Yes.  Yet I am content with my lot and reign in bliss over Ithilien with my lord.  And Éomer finds time in his travels to visit.  Indeed, we expect a great party soon, of my brother and the King himself!"

Rebecca blanched and turned her face away.  "When do you expect them?" she asked weakly.

"In a fortnight.  Then you shall meet the royalty of the land and we shall have such a feast as Ithilien has not seen since the days of old!" she said with a smile.

"Indeed," replied Rebecca, feeling more apprehension than she had in Rivendell.  She thought of Elrohir and was calmer.  She would speak to Radagast of this.  Perhaps it was best if they could be on their way before a fortnight.  She told herself to concentrate with great resolve and hurry to find the Entwives.

That afternoon they passed many promising groves of trees yet they could not discern any to harbor a forest of Entwives.  After one such foray Éowyn asked, "How many Entwives are there, Rebecca?"

"Well, let's see.  Treebeard told me some of their names.  There is Fimbrethil – she is dearest to Treebeard.  He calls her Wandlimb the lightfooted.  Then there's Ossiríel – she's wife to Fingolad and very like an elm tree. Oromírië is precious to Bregalad, or Quickbeam, and resembles his beloved rowans. Loveliest of all is said to be Nimbrethil, white limbed as the birch, from whose native forest Eärendil was granted the wood for his ship.  I suppose there are as many Entwives as Ents, and that's about fifty. But the Entwives have been harder pressed than the Ents in Fangorn and in the Old Forest.  I fear some of them must have died in the ravaging of Rhovanion."

"Then we are searching for a wood of several dozen, at least."

"Yes, unless they spread out a bit.  Perhaps there are stands of them throughout Ithilien.  We must find out."

At dusk they reached their point of encampment.  The smaller Erui flowed gently into the broad Anduin from Lossarnach.  Here, in the angle between the two rivers they found Radagast and Haldir cooling their feet in the water. Yellow irises bloomed in profusion along the riverbanks. A small fire burned beside them and they had laid out their provisions for the evening meal.  Haldir's face lit up as they approached.  

"Have you had a pleasant afternoon, then?" he asked as Rebecca sat down beside him.  

She pulled off her boots and paddled her feet in the river.  "It was a lovely day but unfruitful to our cause," she replied.  

He patted her hand as it rested beside him.  "Our news may cheer you, then."

Her eyes opened wide.  "Indeed?  Have you found any Entwives?"

"No, we did not meet any, but we have heard news!" he smiled.  "Near to the Harad Road lies an old knoll, moss-covered and ancient.  Gathered round it are trees – the oldest this land has to offer.  Most of them are mute but I was able to converse with an oak – your favorite," he noted.

"Yes?  And what had it to say?"

"His reckoning of time is not ours, but it was very long ago indeed.  Many seasons past, when he was but a tiny sapling, there was a great marching of trees.  He tried to follow but found his roots stuck fast to the earth.  He was full of wonder at such trees that could move, albeit slowly.  He was aware of a great sadness among them, for their walking song was full of lament."

Rebecca clapped her hands.  "Then we are on the right trail!"

Radagast lit his pipe.  "So it seems," he said thoughtfully.  "Tomorrow we shall examine the land between the river and the Harad Road, for farther east it grows too rocky in the foothills of the Ephel Duath; no Entwife would have sought haven there, so near to the enemy in Mordor."

"The meadows proceed south along the river," noted Éowyn.  "We passed any number of groves today which seemed promising."

"Then we will all continue southward together," he concluded, smiling to himself as he saw the effect this news had on Haldir.

In fact, the Elf grew quite merry and as the stars began to sparkle in the heavens he told them many tales of his homeland, of fields full of niphrodel and elanor, of great feasts beneath the boughs of the mellryn and the ever-changing song of the Silverlode.

Éowyn shook her head.  "How many years I dwelt near your land in ignorance, Haldir.  Had I known Lothlorien to be so lovely I surely would have visited it!"

Haldir frowned slightly.  "Indeed, lady, we had grown so watchful during the War that we admitted few outsiders.  The Nine Companions were the only exception, save messengers from Rivendell."

Éowyn sighed.  "Glad I am that such times have passed, and peace is now the coin of the realm."

Rebecca sipped her wine, lost in her own thoughts.  There were so many lands she wished to see – Gondor, Rohan, Lothlorien, Dol Amroth.  Where would her Uncle travel next?  Her destiny was entwined with his and wither he went so too would she.  

She was awakened from her reverie when she heard the name of Legolas.  

"Perhaps he may be persuaded to take his vows when his friends are about him," laughed Éowyn.  "For Gimli the Dwarf shall be in the King's party and it has been said that Legolas pays him greater heed than his own father!"

"That may be, lady," agreed Haldir.  "But I've never heard of a Dwarf being much interested in matters of marriage!" 

"Neither is Legolas, apparently," retorted Radagast with a broad smile.  

"What think you of his lady?" asked Rebecca, blushing at once at her boldness.

Haldir shrugged and seemed evasive. "She is lovely, of course…"

"But proud," answered Éowyn.  "Oh, yes she is, Haldir.  You know I speak the truth.  I, too, was proud before I learned of better things.  It is a malady that can be mended."

"For you, perhaps, lady, but I am not sure of… Well.  It is my cousin's business," he concluded firmly.

"So the King shall arrive in a fortnight?" asked Radagast, tactfully steering from the subject at hand.

"Yes, a great feast is being prepared for him!" said Éowyn.  "My brother will be in his party, as will Prince Imrahil."

"Splendid!" exclaimed the wizard.  "Fine company indeed, eh?" He winked at Rebecca, who had gone quite pale.

"Perhaps we shall have achieved our mission by then, Uncle," she suggested.

"Perhaps.  We shall see."

"It is your turn for tales, Radagast!" exclaimed Haldir.  "Tell us what you know of our quarry, so that we may search the better on the morrow!"  So saying, he reclined on his elbow, leaning close to Rebecca.

The old wizard blew several smoke rings.  "What shall I tell you?  For me the tale begins in my youth.  Do not try to estimate the years – it has been many an age since the world and I were young together!  Let's see.  My first memories are of Yavanna and the fruits of her song.  Long sat I at the hem of her garments, learning the lore of all living things.  Together we tended Telperion and Laurelin, and tragic was their passing to all in Valinor. But that is a separate tale.  The world goes ever onward and her creatures grew and withstood the evil.  Her Eldest were awakened in Middle Earth, just as the Children of Ilúvatar, and they matured in wisdom and stature.  Mind you, even Yavanna and Aulë had their differences of opinion - note that Yavanna created the Ent, while Aulë created the Dwarf and his axe!  When Manwë granted Yavanna her wish, that something of hers would live to withstand the will of others, she spoke proudly of the Ents to Aulë.  Her husband's response was simply, Yes, and there will still be a need for wood!"  He laughed and tapped his pipe against a rock.  "It is, perhaps, the will of Yavanna that at last her Eldest will return to her, just as the Elves to Valinor.  Their fëar may seek the Undying Lands, once their bodies have withered.  I believe that Beechbone and some of the Ents who have recently died in battle have done so."

"But tell us about the Ents!  What are they really like?  Though I have lived long in Middle Earth my journeys have never taken me to Fangorn," said Haldir.

"Ah, what is an Ent like?  If you were to ask one of them you'd be several years in getting an answer, and that would not be nearly enough for them!  They are a learned race and a patient one, although they can be roused to great acts, as Isengard has witnessed.  Yavanna created them so that their branches would sway in the winds of Manwë while their roots would plumb the depths of Utumno. What was that rhyme that Gandalf used to sing?  Let's see… 'Ere iron was found or tree was hewn, When young was mountain under moon; Ere ring was made, or wrought was woe, It walked the forest long ago.**' **Great in stature, stalwart in spirit, wise as Elrond himself.  Some resemble the beech, some the tall fir, others the chestnut, or the rowan, or the oak. Once you meet an Ent, dear Haldir, I can assure you my description will fail utterly.  How, indeed, would I describe an Elf, or a Dwarf, for that matter?  To each race his purpose, and to the Ents is entrusted the guardianship of all that Yavanna created: to shepherd her trees and beautify her gardens.  Alas, it is their very purpose that sunders them, for the Ents take their joy in the wild forests while the Entwives delight in the tilled soil, the flowering and ripening of field and grain.  All would have been well, and each to their own task be content, were it not for the blistering of Mordor."

"All may yet be well, Uncle," said Rebecca hopefully.  "You shall see.  Tomorrow we may find them, sound asleep in some leafy bower."

"Indeed we might, my love.  We must look sharp to the trail, and speak as often as we may, Haldir, to the oldest trees.  For they shall have memories long enough, perhaps, to speak of the passing of the Entwives."

"Perhaps we shall meet the cousins of that oak.  They may have a tale to tell us."

The camp then slept.  Rebecca listened to the murmur of Anduin while she watched the stars wheel in their courses and thought of the Entwives, and of Aragorn who would soon come to Ithilien.  

The following morning dawned clear and warm.  Haldir awakened them, his face full of joy.  "Sleep no longer, for the day calls us!"

After breakfast they packed up their camp and made their way along the Harad Road, which bisected the slim stretch of Ithilien from north to south.  They spent the morning weaving between it and the glades that sprung up to the west.  Haldir spoke to several ancient oaks.  Yes, they indeed remembered the passing of strange trees, when their own roots were slim threads of green.  Wither they went they did not know, but the sound of their footsteps was hushed and mournful.  

They paused at midday in a pleasant glade beside the road.  Radagast seated himself upon a large rock.  Cupping his hands about his mouth he uttered a series of cries, to the bemusement of the company save Rebecca, who raised her eyes to the heavens.  Shortly there came from many directions birds of various sizes and sorts.  They assembled upon the grass before the wizard, who spoke to them in their tongue.  Then he bowed and the birds took flight, some to the west along the river and some to the east.

"We are in need of assistance, my friends, for the span between the river and the foothills becomes broader. Now that we have confirmed the passage of the Entwives, our allies with wings shall avail us.  I have sent them to search through the forests, for those with long beards of lichen and the oldest growth. We shall proceed to the camp of Legolas in the south and await their news."

The following day brought another long march. Late in the afternoon the terrain began to swell and heave before them. The mighty Anduin grew wider and drew away from them into the West.  They kept now to the Harad Road.  At dusk they beheld a great grassy mound, surrounded on either side by the pine-draped hills that bordered the Fords of Poros.  

"There is the Haudh in Gwanur, where the sons of Folcwine forever sleep," said Haldir.  "We are come to the southern camp of the Woodland Elves!"

Haldir now led the party from the road into the hills.  They could hear the sound of rushing water and felt the cool breath of the forest as dusk fell about them.  The path was covered with pine needles and fell off to their right into the banks of the Poros.  Soon they were well into the woods and began to discern the faint twinkling of lights ahead.  

"Well-met!" cried a voice from the shadows.  Before them was Tessel, carrying a small lantern which emitted a slender silver beam.  "I must say you took your time!  We have had the evening meal set for you for an hour!  Perhaps your guide was slow," he remarked with a grin at Haldir.

Radagast interrupted before the Elf could form a suitable retort.  "Have there been any messages for me?"

"Aye, there is quite a flock assembled in our trees here!" replied Tessel. "They, too, have been awaiting your arrival."

"Excellent!" replied the wizard.  "I will have a word with them, and then a fine supper, I hope!"

Radagast took Rebecca with him to speak with the birds.  Shortly they joined the others, who were seated at a large table in an open glade girded by tall firs.  The fare was not as elegant as that of the northern Elvish camp, but it was delightful to the travelers.

"What say the sparrows, Aiwendil?" asked Legolas, lifting his glass to the newcomers.

Radagast smiled.  "They bring us good tidings.  Good tidings indeed!  On the morrow we shall begin our search afresh.  There are several locations due south of the Erui; ancient trees amongst newer growth.  These sound promising.  And there is another forest, silent and moss-covered, that stands just north of the downs before the Poros.  The birds said the trees are most strange; they've never seen their like in these woods."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Legolas.  "You shall have our help – some of my people can explore the lands near the Erui, and I myself will join you on the north downs."

"May I go to the downs as well, Uncle?" asked Rebecca.  "I would like to see these strange trees."

"Of course, my love.  You will be most needed there," replied Radagast with a knowing smile.

"I, too, shall join you!" said Haldir. 

"You are too obvious, cousin," muttered Tessel.  Haldir took no notice of his remark.

The meal was pleasant, with the mainstay of discussion focusing on the efforts to repair damage done to the Fords.  Éowyn expressed her pleasure and asked that she may see the restoration on behalf of her husband.  Legolas readily agreed.  "We shall visit first thing in the morning, before exploring the downs."  He glanced at Rebecca and smiled.  "You will join us, lady?"

Rebecca blushed and nodded.  "Of course."

Radagast laughed and pushed back from the table.  "Well I shall not join you, by your leave, my prince.  I have no intention of rising early; I will await your return over my morning coffee!  And now, to bed!"

Tessel rose.  "I will show Aiwendil to his flet, sire."

"Please escort me as well, for I am weary from our days of walking," said Éowyn with a yawn.

Rebecca looked at Radagast imploringly.  "Uncle?"

He patted her on the head as he passed by.  "Yes, my love, you may stay for awhile, if you wish.  Haldir will look after you, I'm sure."

Haldir beamed.  "Of course!  It would be a pleasure!"

Legolas smiled.  "Let us not stay at table on such a night!  Come, I will show you the Amon Thoron, the eagle's hill.  The view over the Poros is exceptional!"

Rebecca followed them from the glade into the depths of the forest.  Legolas carried a small lantern that cast its beam onto the path.  Haldir walked closely behind her, catching her several times when she stumbled upon a root or some broken ground.  They had walked some way through the woods when Legolas drew them to the right.  The path ascended before them and soon they were in the open air atop a hill.  Below them the Poros rushed over its rocky bed. "Let us sit upon the hilltop and speak with the stars!" said Legolas.

Rebecca settled herself beside him, drawing her knees to her chin and gazing up at the sky.  It twinkled with starlight.  Legolas pointed.  "There is the Valacirca, the great sickle of the Valar!"

"My uncle calls it the Great Bear," said Rebecca. "How clear it is tonight!"

"And there is Menelmacar, the hunter, just setting on the horizon," added Haldir.

"There are red Carnil and his sister, Helluin the sapphire," Legolas said as he lay back upon the grass, clasping his hands behind his head.

Rebecca and Haldir followed suit.  She pointed to a bright star to the east.  "Which one is that?"

"That is Alcarinquë the Glorious; he is one of Elbereth's first-born," replied Legolas.  

The night air was soft and fragrant. "The very air here is perfumed," she sighed. "What flowers mingle their scent with the pine?"

Legolas grinned.  "The ward of Aiwendil has a keen sense of smell. That is the wild rose, eglantine.  You call it sweetbriar in your tongue.  In the daylight you will see its blossoms entwined about the boles of the trees; it grows all over this land."

"How lovely!" she exclaimed, picturing a forest full of roses.  "What a blessed place this is!"

"It is not called the fairest of the Westlands for naught," said Legolas. 

A melodious birdsong filled the night air.  From above their heads a small nightingale flew, alighting on the ground beside them.  

Rebecca sat up in delight.  The bird twittered for several minutes.  She replied in a series of soft whistles and the bird cocked its head, listening closely.  It uttered a song in reply and then returned from whence it came, into the dark night.

Legolas propped himself up on his elbow.  "What had it to say?" he asked curiously.  

"She was bringing news to Radagast, but she found him sound asleep!  He had asked her to watch the glade in the downs after the sun set.  She came to report that there is a faint light about the trees, as if they are answering the light of Vingilot upon the western sky.  She has never seen this before.  She also wished us a pleasant evening."

Legolas laughed merrily.  "I see!  Henceforth I shall call you _aiwë.  It means 'little bird' in my tongue."_

Rebecca smiled. "Aiwendil and Aiwë!  He will like that!"

Haldir shook his head.  "Nay, cousin, surely _alqua would be better, for she is like a swan!"_

Embarrassed, Rebecca lay back upon the grass and focused intently upon the stars.  "What is that one called, then?" she asked, pointing to the blue Luinil.  Legolas identified it for her and they continued their stargazing, albeit the cousins found their minds straying from the distant stars to points of interest nearer home.

**_Next: The Awakening_**


	13. The Awakening

**The Awakening**

_Note to my beloved readers: _

_First and foremost, thank you all for your patience and your encouraging emails. Life has been quite complicated since my last post, but I promise the rest of the story will progress more quickly._

_Since my last entry, Peter Jackson eliminated Haldir in the Battle of Helm's Deep. But The Man Himself did not assign Haldir such a fate. I have opted to follow Tolkien's lead on this – during the War of the Ring, Haldir and his fellow Galadhrim were busy taking on the forces of evil around Lothlorien, joining up with Thranduil's armies in the Battle Under the Trees. So, in this fanfiction, Haldir Lives. For now._

_  
_Haldir stirred as the first rays of sun crept over the horizon. He swiftly dressed, braided his hair and climbed down the ladder of his flet to wait for the others to awaken. He shook his head. Tessel would find his vigil amusing, but the March Warden of Lothlorien was used to solitude while guarding the northern fences of his forest. He missed the fellowship of his brothers, Orophin and Rúmil. They often chided him for being aloof in matters of the heart. How surprised they would be now.

He was trying too hard and knew it. He was not glib by nature; his brothers teased him for being terse. Yet he had gone out of his way to be pleasant to Rebecca. He found himself opening up to her, wanting to charm her with the warmth he felt. He sighed and sagged against the bole of a tree. There were handsome men enough in the world; he did not want to play the fool. But he was unable to get her out of his thoughts – her smile, her silvery blue eyes, her musical laughter.

There was the question of her lineage. She was tall, yet her figure was unlike any she-elf in his acquaintance. He found himself dwelling a bit too long on certain aspects of her anatomy and shook his head to clear it. Perhaps peace was not good for him, left him open to flights of fancy. He thought of the approaching party from Gondor. Soon there might be a string of suitors, worthy men, no doubt, if they were in the royal entourage, but the mere thought of another courting her, taking her hand in the forests of Ithilien…

Despite his reverie he heard someone coming and turned to find Tessel regarding him with amusement. "Up a little early, aren't we, cousin?"

He released his breath in a huff. "I am accustomed to rising with the sun, but you? After a night of wine and song?"

Tessel folded his arms across his breast. "You don't factor women into the account?"

Haldir shrugged. "Your reputation indicates otherwise."

Tessel brushed aside the remark and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I have the morning watch, mellon. What's your excuse?"

Haldir scanned the horizon, avoiding his friend's eye.

"The March Warden, ever on the alert. But tell me, captain, isn't the day a bit short in the tooth for you to be hunting?"

"We go today to seek the Entwives."

"Ah, that is not the prey I had in mind."

Again, Haldir's gaze sought the horizon. "I don't take your meaning."

Tessel laughed heartily. "I never thought I'd see the day – Haldir, proud warrior, master of any female on whom he set his sights! Waiting at dawn for a woman who does not even realize she's his target!"

Haldir frowned. "You said last night that I was too marked in my attentions."

"And so you would be, with the sophisticates to whom you are accustomed. But this lady is not worldly. Have a care, cousin – you are in over your head."

Haldir's reply was cut short as the object of their discussion came into the glade, yawning and pulling her tresses through a leather band to hold them back. Tessel grinned at Haldir's suppressed sigh. His friend was to be a source of great sport in the days to come.

"Good morning, lady," the two Elves said at once.

"'Morning," she replied sleepily.

"Join me at table, won't you?" Tessel invited. "I've made some tea to open your eyes and wash down your lembas."

Legolas entered the glade, Dolressa hanging lightly upon his arm. She was resplendent in a forest green tunic that made her silvery blonde hair sparkle like moonlight. Rebecca felt dowdy in her travel-stained breeches, her curly hair beginning to frizzle in the morning's rising humidity. Dolressa smiled coldly at Rebecca, who could see from the glint in the Elf's narrowed eyes that she knew Rebecca failed in comparison to her elegant beauty.

"Good morning!" Legolas greeted them cheerfully. "Is that tea, Tessel?"

Dolressa took a seat close to Legolas and nodded to Rebecca. "Are you ready for the day's adventure, child?"

Éowyn's arrival spared Rebecca. She, too, looked lovely and Rebecca wondered if blonde women were naturally more beautiful. She twirled her ponytail and regretted her brown hair.

Éowyn graciously accepted a plate and mug from Tessel and sat beside Rebecca. "Radagast is not joining us this morning?"

Rebecca grinned. "Uncle rarely rises before mid-morning. But he will join us after we visit the Fords."

Tessel laughed. "Of all the Istari, I think it is Aiwendil who most prefers the sweet things in life."

Haldir wanted to say that he was assured of sweetness with Rebecca in his company but bit his tongue. There was something in Dolressa's demeanor that thwarted amorous speech. He was, therefore, surprised and displeased when Legolas gave voice to his thoughts.

"Then he is most fortunate in his ward, Aiwë," said the prince with a smile.

Dolressa looked mutinous and stood, glowering at Rebecca. "Perhaps we should be on our road, so that the child will be able to greet Aiwendil with his morning tea."

Éowyn and Tessel exchanged an amused glance. Ever the diplomat, she agreed. "Yes, I would like to see how the restoration progresses."

They set out on foot, Legolas and Dolressa leading the way. Haldir walked with Rebecca and Éowyn, remarking, once he was out of Dolressa's hearing, that he was the most fortunate Elf in Ithilien.

As they neared the Haudh in Gwanur, Éowyn spoke of the sons of Folcwine and the terrible battle in which they fell. She bowed her head in reverence. "Here lie Folcred and Fastred, heroes who bought freedom from the Haradrim with their lives."

"Does Prince Faramir fear the Haradrim, lady?" asked Rebecca.

"Aye, as do all in Ithilien. We labor to beautify and fortify this land, but the Fords of Poros remain its weakest link."

"With our archers stationed on the bluff, they are not the vulnerable target they once were," remarked Haldir. "We have built many flets on either side of the Fords."

"True, Haldir, but it would be difficult for your sharpest archers to bring down the mûmakil used by the Haradrim."

Rebecca frowned. "I do not like this use of animals for purposes of war. It isn't right."

"For centuries my people have bred our horses to be strong in war, Rebecca," replied Éowyn.

"Nay, lady. Your people have bred horses to be strong, and they are. That they are needed in war is a terrible waste of good horses."

"You are a pacifist, but you must concede that preparation for war is necessary," noted Haldir.

"I will concede the marring of Arda and the sad inevitability of war," she sighed. "But I will never value war as a desirous or glorious thing."

Éowyn smiled. "A decade ago I would have contested your ideas, dear Rebecca, but I agree with you now. I beg you, however, not to mention the matter to my brother!"

Haldir grinned. "Your brother's enthusiasm extends beyond the battlefield, surely! I understand from Legolas that he enjoys the finest of tables at Meduseld."

"Yes, I daresay he and Legolas have raised many a tankard in the days after the war. But you shall see for yourselves, friends, when he arrives in a fortnight for Legolas' mereth."

"The mereth is for Legolas?" asked Haldir.

"Well, let us say it is being held in his honor," admitted Éowyn. "It is his father's idea. Thranduil contacted us at the turning of the year, and my lord agreed to his request of holding a feast to celebrate Legolas' impending nuptials. A great party is expected from the Greenwood, and the royalty of Gondor and Rohan are also attending."

Haldir threw back his head and laughed merrily. "It will take more than a mereth to bring my cousin to his wedding vows!"

Éowyn shrugged. "We agree, but a celebration is in order, if only for the restoration of Ithilien. And Thranduil would not be denied."

Haldir's smile tipped into a frown. "That is indeed Thranduil's reputation."

Éowyn glanced askance at Rebecca. "I have heard that he is less than discreet in his…attentions."

"He is a cad who is unchecked since his wife's departure to Valinor," retorted Haldir brusquely. "You would do well to avoid being caught alone with him." He silently vowed to protect Rebecca from such a situation. The Woodland King would devour her like an aperitif, given half a chance.

They joined Legolas and his lady at the edge of the bluff. "You can see where the mûmakil have passed," he said, pointing to several patches along the ford that had been completely plowed down. "We should be safe, with our fortifications. We will have enough archers to bring them down."

Rebecca frowned. "Animals should not be used in war," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"That may be true, but we will need archers if we are facing mûmakil," he noted.

"Not necessarily," she replied, shaking her head.

Legolas looked puzzled. "I have fought these creatures before, Aiwë. Archers are really the only defense against them."

She faced him, eyebrows raised. "You fought them, yes, but did you speak with them first?"

Legolas looked nonplussed. "They were charging me at the time."

She nodded. "No, I understand. You did not know the words."

"Words?"

Dolressa tugged at his sleeve. "Enough of the child's fantasies. Come, we must return to Aiwendil, my love."

As they turned, Rebecca found that the same dimple in Legolas' right cheek when he smiled also appeared when he seemed to be gritting his teeth, but the look in his eyes was markedly different.

They found the wizard awake, albeit not alert, as he savored the meal that Tessel had laid out.

"I greatly hope that the new trade with the South will bring coffee back to our tables. Why, it must be five centuries since I enjoyed the darkest coffee in Southron. There was a sloe-eyed serving girl who…"

Dolressa clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Not before your ward, Aiwendil!"

The wizard smiled. "I was referring to the richness of her brew, lady."

Rebecca laughed, laying her head upon his shoulder lovingly. "When the trade routes are safe, we will visit her descendants, Uncle."

The heat of the day was beginning to rise. Rebecca lifted the heavy mane of hair from her shoulders, marveling at how the other ladies still looked cool and composed. She let her hair fall with a frustrated sigh.

Legolas noted her discomfort and smiled. "A braid would be far more comfortable in this heat, Aiwë," he commented.

Rebecca laughed as she rebound her hair into an unruly ponytail. "I've never been able to master the art," she admitted.

"Then you must allow me," he volunteered. "I have the experience of many years."

Rebecca blushed furiously. "I'm afraid my hair will defy your skills, sir."

"Nonsense! I relish a challenge!" he replied, insisting she settle herself before him. He gently combed his long fingers through her tresses, laughing as her tendrils curled around them and rebelled against the order under which he attempted to bring them. He thoroughly enjoyed himself as he stepped forward to survey his artistry. Despite his labors, several wisps immediately freed themselves to curl about her ears.

Dolressa sniffed. "The heat can be so withering to one's looks," she purred. "But I fear your handiwork will be wasted quickly, my love. The child will be scruffy again in a quarter of an hour."

Legolas scowled at her rudeness. She could be so insufferable at times!

"A rose blooms all the lovelier in the warmth of the sun," retorted Haldir. Legolas smiled at him gratefully.

On their road, Haldir laughed as more stubborn curls escaped their bounds. "I will be happy to redo them when we arrive at our destination," he said. "Galadhrim braids are superior to those of the Greenwood."

Rebecca shook her head. "I think my hair cannot be tamed by any braid, whatever its origin," she confessed.

The journey was arduous, descending north from the bluffs of Poros into thick forests. The company spoke to each other save Rebecca, who fell behind to listen to the whispers of the woods. After a time, Radagast joined her.

"What do you hear, my love?"

"Reverence, Uncle. And…mourning."

Radagast smiled. "Ah. You hear the song of the trees."

She nodded. "The singing grows stronger."

"Yes. We are coming to the glade, I think."

"The one of which the birds spoke?" she asked, feeling an odd apprehension.

"Indeed." He stepped aside, letting her enter before him, watching her closely.

They found themselves in a small clearing, silent and moss-covered. All speech was hushed as they looked about the ancient wood. Many an oak and beech put forth lichen-covered limbs, yet here was a cedar, there a birch, a hazel, an ash. They girdled an ancient oak which stood in their midst tall and proud, its sturdy limbs filtering the sun, whose slanting rays barely penetrated the gloom of the glade.

Haldir felt the heaviness physically. The sorrow was palpable. He cocked his head and placed his long hand upon the craggy bark of a beech, paused then whispered,

"This tree says, thus they have been ere he was born and they speak not. Alas, they cannot be woken."

"Ai!" exclaimed Legolas softly, "Have we found what we seek, only to be denied?"

Those assembled debated what to do. Radagast watched his ward, smiling. And waited.

A glimmer at first, imperceptible. Blind to all else but the oak, Rebecca stepped before it. The gem about her throat pulsed, adding to the eerie light filtering through the treetops, and grew stronger until the surrounding trees were bathed in its pale light. Her ribs ached as if something was rushing through her. She felt dizzy, disoriented, and leaned on the ancient oak for support. She opened her mouth and uttered a song unbidden. Radagast closed his eyes, sighing as he recognized the words. Rebecca was reciting the very song Yavanna had sung in an attempt to revive the dying Telperion, whose teardrop was captured in the crystal depths of her jewel. The song grew in volume, the words came faster, urgent. The trees shuddered as if caught in a sudden burst of wind.

The song faltered and ceased. Rebecca swayed and stumbled into Haldir's waiting arms. He lowered her gently to the soft earth, cradling her and kissing her brow. "Îdh na nín, melui Aiwë." He held her close as her ragged breathing slowed.

For several minutes there was complete silence, punctuated only by Rebecca's strained gasps. Then, a faint rustle began. Attention turned from Rebecca and Haldir to the oak, which trembled, shuddered and…sneezed.

A pair of moss-covered eyelids creaked open to reveal enormous brown orbs. A green glint flashed in their depths. "Who calls me?" asked a voice like the whisper of dried leaves across the forest floor.

Radagast stepped forward. No longer the stooped elder, he seemed fair to look upon and tall. "Awake now, my friends. Awake into a new order."

The oak shook, her leaves trembling as she stretched her limbs. "Who calls to me in the tongue of Yavanna, my creator?"

The jewel's light had faded, but an aura glimmered about the wizard. "It is Aiwendil, who wakes you in the name of your mistress, with the aerlinn of the Eilenäer. Come now, Fimbrethil, awake and join us."

The oak nodded slowly, as if she was recalling many thousands of things to arrive at the present moment. "I fear my legs are now cumbersome and crabbed with age, Aiwendil. Long have been the years of my sleep." The earth gave a small, sucking sound as she lifted one foot with great effort.

Turning, she looked about her and uttered something in Entish that took a very long time to say. One by one, the ladies on either side stirred, blinking sleepily. The birch reached up and tousled the pale green leaves crowning her head.

Fimbrethil laughed at the gesture. "You are lovely as ever, my Nimbrethil!" She stepped forward and surveyed her court. "Fraxinia, Avelluna, Atsinalui! But we are so few! Alas, we have lost many sisters along our path! Where is my fair rowan?" she cried in dismay.

"Be at peace, lady. There are some, your youngest kindred, I imagine, who may have fallen asleep to the north. It seems the eldest and stoutest of heart stopped last," replied Radagast.

Fimbrethil nodded. "Find my Acuparia, for she is dear to me of old." She closed her eyes, remembering. "The War of the Last Alliance. Our gardens were lost. Ponderous was our journey. At last we could sing our nainie no longer and here my memories cease. How long have we slept?"

"These three thousand years, Emerwen," replied the wizard.

"Our gardens – have they been restored?" asked the Entwife hopefully.

Radagast shook his head sadly. "Nay, they await your return, my lady. As does all of Middle Earth. We have awakened you so that the work of renewal may truly commence. The Nestad has begun."

"Indeed," agreed Legolas, stepping forward and bowing low before the Entwife. "We would be honored for your assistance with the Olvar, lady."

A fond smile lit the Entwife's craggy face. "Ah, my darlings! How I long to see them, to hear their sweet voices!"

"In time, my dear, in time!" laughed Radagast. "Yet you are newly wakened and are in need of sustenance! I will send word at once to your husband and his merry band; they will be here within the space of a fortnight. "'Twere possible, he would no doubt fly!"

Fimbrethil held a twiggy hand above her trunk. "My beloved lives still!"

"Aye, the Aldaron does, in lands near the Isen, as of old. He will bring you draughts from the deep places of the earth, to refresh you and help you regain your strength."

Fimbrethil sighed and sagged. "It is well, Aiwendil, for I am so weary. Yet I must seek our younger sisters…"

"Nay, lady, stay and call to them only. I shall attend them," said Radagast, laying a hand on her arm. "You are in no fit shape to be wandering the hills of Ithilien."

Fimbrethil bit her lip. "You are right, Aiwendil. I should not go far were I to wander from this glade. I will do as you ask, and speak to them."

So saying, she cupped her long hands about her mouth and began a long, low call. As she did so, the other Entwives began to stretch their limbs and move about the glade. The company looked on in wonder. At last, Fimbrethil lowered her hands and listened. A faint response was heard; the sound could almost be mistaken for a birdsong on the passing breeze were it not for the delighted smile that spread across her face. "Ah! Embla! There is Sylvestris and Gossypium! And again, Platania and Rubrium!" Then she shook her head. "So few, so few! Have so many perished by axe and flame, then?"

"I fear it is so, but we shall see," soothed Radagast. "Rebecca and I shall travel hither and attend to your lost comrades."

For the first time, Fimbrethil seemed to be aware of Rebecca, who had regained herself and stood beside Haldir, regarding the Entwife with amazement. She reminded Rebecca of Treebeard with her tall and almost neckless head, yet the nose was more delicate and her limbs bore a grace that was lacking in her male counterpart. She understood now why Treebeard called his mate "Wandlimb."

Fimbrethil nodded slowly. "Ah, this is she who dares to use the words of Yavanna." She stepped before the awestruck Rebecca and placed a wooden finger lightly upon her cheek, gazing deeply into her eyes. Rebecca felt lost in their fathoms.

"Yes, the Eilenäer will unite more than the Onodrim, I believe," she said at last. "She is to be part of the Ainulinde with her sweet voice. The Ainur have chosen well for the Erusen."

The company was startled by the rush and caw of a large black crow, which hoisted itself into the sky and disappeared to the south. Radagast frowned deeply.

"All is not well, my friends," he said solemnly. "There are yet those who would stop us. We must be wary." He turned to Legolas. "Come, lead us back to your camp, where we may continue our business." He bowed low before the Entwives. "Dearest ladies, we shall return thither with your sisters and kinsmen. Take heart!"

Rebecca paused, then curtseyed before Fimbrethil. "If I may be of service, my lady, I will do all I can to aid you and your kin!"

Fimbrethil placed her twigged hand upon Rebecca's bowed head. "Hail, Eilenäer! It is I who art in thy service!"

The companions made their long way back to the Sylvan camp beneath Henneth Annûn. It took the remainder of the day and by late evening they found themselves in the twinkling lights beneath the trees.

Rebecca walked by herself, the others leaving her to her own thoughts. Legolas was deeply impressed with the business, not the least of which involved Rebecca's part, and spoke in depth to Radagast during their travels. It was clear to the wizard that something besides the Entwives had awakened that day. Dolressa was uncharacteristically silent during their return to the camp. For her part, Rebecca did not like the look in Dolressa's eye when she caught it.

Upon their return, Radagast called to him two large ravens. He spoke to each in turn and sent them their separate ways.

"To whom did you send them, Uncle?" asked Rebecca as her eyes followed the flight of the birds as they headed northwest.

"To Tom Bombadil and to Treebeard, of course."

"What happened in the woods, Uncle? What was it that I said?"

"Your song has been unleashed, my dearest. You will sing ever after, often when you least expect it."

They were interrupted by a loud "hurrah!" Two horsemen had newly arrived and were descending from their steeds with a flourish. Behind the tallest, a sturdy, squat figure was brushing away assistance disagreeably.

"Call your servants off, Legolas, or by Durin's beard I will have their heads for dinner!"

"But you are early, my lords!" exclaimed the Elf with a laugh. "We did not expect you so soon!"

Rebecca gasped as she beheld the new arrivals. The King of Rohan looked much like his sister, tall and fair and full of laughter. The dwarf she assumed was Gimli and his riding partner…

It was her first glimpse of the renowned King of Gondor. She took one look. And fled.

Haldir saw Rebecca dart from the clearing into the trees. Concerned, he turned and followed her swift retreat. Legolas, in the midst of the greetings, also saw Rebecca disappear into the forest, pursued by Haldir. He wasn't sure whose behavior troubled him more, that of Aiwë or his cousin.

Radagast took it all in and, with a sigh, followed the pair into the woods.

Many leagues to the south, Pallando sat in session with the Variags of Khand, having already secured the support of the Haradrim of Haradwaith and Far Harad. The medallion on his breast brought him great skill as the spirit of Saruman smoothed his voice with influence and power. They were deep in discussion as to the terms of their treaty, which included the employment of many mûmakil.

A great serpent wound its way around the circumference of the felt tent, embroidered in threads of crimson and ebony. They sat upon intricate woolen rugs, evidence of continued allegiance with the East. The men with whom Pallando spoke were tall, their skins burned by the fierce sun. Their black hair was plaited with gold, and their faces painted with crimson. The Variags loved bright clothing and ornaments; their chieftains were dressed in cobalt and orange, adorned with golden scimitars. Banners of red marked with a black serpent were displayed in the tent.

Pallando reminded them of their recent defeat in the War of the Ring, and of their defeat at the hands of Gondor in the Battle of the Crossings of Poros in Ithilien in 1885. He played upon their anger, knowing them to be cruel as orcs in battle – they gave no quarter and expected none. The mightiest of them came from Far Harad, comparable to trolls in strength and size. He would need every last one of them.

Their chieftain took an enormous golden goblet and drank deeply, then handed it to Pallando. "To our unity," responded the wizard, who drank and passed the cup to another Variag. The cup was passed in turn to each warlord. A feast ensued, at the culmination of which a girl garbed in crimson was brought before Pallando, who, besotted with drink did not understand the significance.

"To seal our treaty, my friend," replied the chieftain, exhibiting several golden teeth in his wide grin. "The purest of our maidens, a virgin, for your pleasure."

Pallando made to protest but he heard a soft whisper in his mind, "Take her, you fool," he heard the voice say with a sneer. "It will be… amusing."

At that moment there was a stir at the flap of the tent. A servant entered, holding a large crow upon his forearm with great uneasiness. Pallando stood upon hearing Saruman's order, "Bring the bird to me."

To the servant's great relief, the crow hopped from his arm to Pallando's. The caws of the great bird puzzled him: "Entwives found, Eilenäer sings." Although a Maiar of Oromë, Pallando was not familiar with the ways of the woods. He did not understand the message, but his master did. He could hear Saruman's cold laughter ringing in his ears. "So, it has truly begun. We have much work to do my friend. It is time to travel east, to Rhûn. After you enjoy your evening…"

_________Things Elvish:  
mellon_ - friend  
_mereth_ - feast, gala  
_Îdh na nín, Aiwë muin_ – Rest with me, sweet Aiwë  
_aerlinn - _chant  
_nainie_ - lament  
_Emerwen_ - Shepardess  
_Nestad_ - healing  
_Aldaron_ - Lord of trees_  
Ainulinde _- Music of the Ainur  
_Ainur_ - Holy Ones  
_Erusen_ - Children of God  
_Onodrim_ - Ents  
_Estolad_ - camp

_______________**Next: Wassail**_


	14. Wassail!

_**Wassail**_

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* * *

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The darkness of Ithilien deepened as Rebecca ran further into its forest. An unseen owl interjected its nightly cry as she fended branches in her path. She wound her way through the dim woods for a good distance before Haldir caught up with her.

"My lady, you are troubled!" he cried, laying a gentle hand upon her arm as she leant upon the bole of a birch to catch her breath.

She clutched a stitch in her side and shook her head, uncertain of what to say. She didn't want to tell him why; she didn't want to tell anyone.

He pulled her from the tree, standing her before him. "What is it? What may I do to assist you?"

Her eyes were clouded as he held her gaze. "Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing, really…"

He took her hands in his. He had meant to comfort her, but their privacy and proximity were too much; lowering his mouth to hers he grazed her lips with his own. The sound of someone coughing interrupted him.

"I do not wish to intrude," began the wizard. "But I believe I must speak to my ward, Haldir."

Haldir straightened, embarrassed. "Oh. I just…" he squeezed Rebecca's hands and turned to face the wizard.

Radagast smiled at him. "Please tell the others we will meet them at the palace of Emyn Arnen for the mereth. We have a great deal of work to do now."

"Yes, of course. I shall look forward to…that is…yes," he stammered, gazing back at Rebecca as he began to retrace his steps to the camp.

Rebecca did not have time to reflect upon the encounter as she met the stern gaze of Radagast. "You cannot run from your destiny, Rebecca, no matter how much you wish it," he said.

"I know, Uncle," she replied, hanging her head. "It's just that I do not wish to meet him. Not yet."

"Not ever, if you had your way. Which you do not, my love."

"I cannot face him, Uncle. Elladan said Aragorn would _know_, just by looking at me! What am I to say to him?"

Radagast sighed, putting his arm around her. She hid her face on his shoulder. She was shaking. "There, now," he soothed, stroking her hair. "I have not done anything to prepare you for this, have I? No, you are right. It is not time to meet him." He lifted her chin. "We will go to find Acuparia, and to meet Treebeard near the Erui. We will speak of Aragorn and I will give you courage, little one."

They quietly made their way back to the camp, collected provisions from Tessel and set off into the night without notice.

Meanwhile, the lords of Rohan and Gondor had accompanied Éowyn to Emyn Arnen, leaving Gimli with his friend. The dwarf had settled in and found Legolas sitting at an empty table under the oaks. He glanced about and determined that they were alone.

"Where is your lady, Legolas?" he inquired, seating himself before the large stein that the Elf had set for him.

Legolas sighed deeply. "She has gone to her chambers. I apologize – she should be here to welcome you…"

Gimli snorted. "With the exception of present company, this Dwarf never expects much from any pointy-ear." He blew the foam from his ale. "You have argued."

Legolas nodded. "She has changed, Gimli. She was once so fine in her manner, her wit. We used to laugh. I read her poetry…"

Gimli regarded his friend with amusement. "Poetry, eh?"

Legolas shrugged. "I've written a verse or two in my day. Paltry, perhaps, but she listened." His shoulders sagged. "I have kept her waiting too long. I know that."

Gimli swirled the ale in his stein before taking a long drink. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before answering. "There is a reason you have done so."

Legolas shook his head. "It would be wrong to leave her now."

"So you'd marry unhappily to allay your guilt at ending something so foolishly begun?"

Legolas looked at the dwarf. "Foolishly begun?"

Gimli took another swig and regarded his friend over his tankard. "Aye, foolish. Poetry-reading hours of dalliance in your youth. Anyone can be lithesome in their salad days, Legolas. And your betrothal – hastily made on the eve of the departure of the Fellowship. An emotional time indeed. Had you not returned, which was a likelihood, d'you suppose your lady would have pined to death for you?"

Legolas sighed. "Doubtful."

"And yet here you are, despairing over a match that ill suits you now." Gimli finished the rest of his beer. "And the Elves accuse my kin of lunacy!"

"But how to end it, Gimli? How could I honorably do so?"

Gimli stood, stein in hand. "That is for you to decide, my friend. For my part, I think best with a pint in my hand."

An attendant refilled his mug. He turned back to his friend. "Time spent is time lost, Legolas. Do not withhold your wishes for much longer, else trouble will come of it."

Daybreak found an ample table set for the kings of Rohan and Gondor. Éomer was tucking in with relish, while Aragorn and Faramir were deep in conversation over their tea.

"We have an uneasy alliance with tribes from the East. Alatar's influence lives on with some of them. It goes less well in the South," remarked Aragorn. "I have brought to court an ambassador. Lokirim, named for the great serpent worshipped by his people. He is skilled in their lore and has been useful in what continues to be delicate diplomacy."

Faramir shook his head. "I hope his character surpasses his name, for I do not trust snakes any more than I do the Haradrim."

"Agreed. But we need to cement our relations with the South. Ithilien is so vulnerable…"

"The Fords of Poros are your problem," said Éomer, helping himself to several slices of ham. "My kin died there, and more will be lost should the South rise against you."

Éowyn entered with a fresh pot of tea. "I have seen the Haudh en Gwanur and the ramparts of the Elves," she said as she poured for her husband and her king. "They have fortified the area thoroughly."

Éomer held out his cup. "You and I have fought against the mûmakil, sister. You know as well as I that a strong army of them cannot be withstood by archers alone, whatever their number and skill."

Éowyn frowned. "That is so. Would that Rebecca's words were true."

"Who is Rebecca?" asked Aragorn, spreading an ample amount of jam on a piece of toast.

"She is ward to Aiwendil," replied Faramir. "What did she say?"

"That there are words which will stop the mûmakil."

Éomer smiled. "Conversing with mûmakil? I do not believe it!"

"Yet we communicate with our horses well enough," said Éowyn.

Éomer shook his head. "Perhaps she can speak to mûmakil, but their riders are something else with which to contend. The giants that drive the mûmakil are from Far Harad; they march ahead of the infantry – hard men and merciless."

"True. Even if the mûmakil are stopped, there are still the armies, and we must not forget the Battle of the Camp. If we are caught between battalions from the North and South, we will be hard pressed," added Aragorn. Sighing, he helped himself to more eggs and changed the subject. "I look forward to meeting this ward of Radagast."

"She is lovely," said Éowyn. "But there is something that stirs her to melancholy."

"Hard to imagine anyone in such a state around Radagast," laughed Éomer. "Enjoys a tankard as much as I! Of course, he usually talks more to horses than to people…"

The following two weeks were busy ones. The royalty of Rohan and Gondor reviewed fortifications, old military campaigns, and the reconstruction of Ithilien.

Gimli drafted plans for the restoration of Osgiliath. "A project of massive proportions," he warned them. "Sauron's forces destroyed many of the buildings. The towers in particular are in shambles. It will take several score of my people working continuously for a decade."

"And we will have to house and feed such a host? I beg you, Aragorn, to reconsider!" Legolas laughed. His spirits had greatly improved in the company of his old friends.

Aragorn nodded, smiling. "A necessary evil, given the merits of the project. Perhaps you could build new flets for their use?"

"Never!" Gimli snorted. "A dwarf sleeps on the ground, not in a tree like some bearded bird!"

Meanwhile, Rebecca and Radagast made their way North to the Erui. They rode single file as the lane was narrow. Sunlight dappled the path before them and a pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves.

"Uncle," she began, turning Alfirin around a curve on the path.

"Yes, love?"

"Did you know the place of the Entwives?"

"I was certain they were in Ithilien. Almost. But I could not have awakened them, not even in their own tongue. The song of Yavanna was needed, and only you can utter it."

"And now there will be Entings again!"

"Yes," nodded Radagast. "That is more important than you know."

"Uncle?"

"Yes, my love?"

She studied Alfirin's ears closely, felt her own getting hot. "Need I meet Aragorn? Cannot we continue just as we are, wandering here and there?"

Radagast pulled his horse off the path into a small clearing. "Here we shall stop and break our fast. I will answer your question."

Rebecca retrieved a saddlebag and set out their meal.

The wizard smeared jam upon a scone. He chewed thoughtfully, then looked at his ward. "We have much work to do in Gondor and the Brown Lands, Rebecca."

"I know, Uncle. Once we have healed the Entwives, we can help rebuild their gardens."

"And restore the lands to the North, near the House Under the Hill. Aragorn is the King of Gondor and Arnor and many lands between. He will need to know our plans and therefore he will need to know you."

"Can you not send me far afield with the Entwives while you meet with him?" she asked hopefully.

Radagast shook his head. "And when he talks to the Sons of Elrond?" He laid a gentle hand upon her arm. "You cannot hide in obscurity, my love. You have an important role – assigned by the Powers themselves – to heal more than Middle Earth. You will bind the rift between the Two Kindred. And Aragorn is King of the Edain. You cannot go about your business in secret forever."

"I don't understand, Uncle. How can I possibly heal the Kindred? They are forever separated by the Sundering Seas and the Doom of Man."

Radagast smiled. "Tom has taught you well in lore. Do you remember that the Doom of Man was known as the Gift, before Morgoth poisoned the minds of the Edain?"

"Yes, Tom told me about that."

"Then he will also have spoken to you of the Second Song of the Ainur, at which time the world will be remade."

"Yes, but what has that to do with our work?"

"Ultimately, you might say that _is_ our work." He stood, brushing crumbs from his brown robes. "As part of that work, you must know the Kings of Men. There is no faltering on this point, Rebecca."

She sighed. "Then what do I say to him, Uncle?"

He helped her onto her horse. "Simply, that you are his kin."

"And when he rejects me, as well he might?"

"Did the Sons of Elrond reject you? You are the Eilenäer – your voice will sing on behalf of many, Rebecca. Aragorn will come to understand that and rejoice."

"How can he understand what I don't?"

Radagast smiled. "Come, let's be on our road. We shall speak of this again."

Rebecca was not satisfied by his response and wondered about the Second Song of the Ainur. She recalled her discussions with Tom on the matter. He had said that, at Arda's end, the Valar would again sing and that Ilúvatar would speak Eä for the second time in history. The world would be remade. But what had these lofty matters to do with her?

At dusk, they arrived at the junction of the gentle Erui and the Anduin, where they had camped not long ago. To the south of this angle, in a quiet clearing in Lossarnach, they found assembled a small Entmoot, but the Entwives were very weak and barely moving. Rebecca recognized elm, pine, cottonwood, sycamore and maple.

"Good evening, ladies," said Radagast with a low bow. He then launched into a long Entish greeting which took an hour to pronounce. Rebecca learned their names: Ossiríel, Gossypium, Sylvestris, Platania, Rubrium. She searched for Fimbrethil's Acuparia. "Uncle," she whispered when he paused. "There is no rowan here."

Radagast asked something in Entish. Ossiríel, the tall elm, nodded and responded in a lengthy speech that ended with 'Oromírië' and 'Sylvatica.'

"Ah," Radagast nodded. "Her Entish name is Oromírië. She has not arrived; they have heard her voice along the river; she is trying to awaken the beech. Go search for them and lead them back, my love."

Rebecca did as she was bid, following the slow-moving river westward until she heard a long, low chanting which she recognized to be the voice of an Entwife.

She entered the tree line and saw a tall rowan swaying slowly before an aged beech.

She touched the rowan gently. "Oromírië?"

The lovely tree turned, startled. Her large green eyes focused on the slim girl. "Who calls my name?" she asked in a voice soft as a light breeze.

"I am Rebecca, and I come in the name of Yavanna to bring you to the Entmoot. Why do you tarry?"

Oromírië sighed and hung her head. "I cannot awaken Sylvatica. I have tried, so many words, but she will not arise."

Rebecca looked up and searched the face of the beech before them. She waited to feel the song swell in her breast, but nothing came. She was aware, at once and sadly, that Acuparia's efforts were in vain. She placed a soothing hand upon her trunk. "I am sorry, lady. She is gone."

The rowan raised long twiggy fingers to her eyes. "No, it cannot be!" She stood still, save for the sobbing motion of her shoulders.

Rebecca felt the stirrings of kinship with the Entwife. She wrapped her arms around her trunk and hugged her close. "I am sorry, Oromírië. There is naught to be done. She has become like Finglas Leaflock and will not awake. But Oromírië, I bring you glad tidings of Fimbrethil."

Oromírië straightened. "Then I did hear her voice? All of the Entwives are not dead?"

"No, dearest lady, many remain and await your return!"

"Ossiríel? Rubrium?"

"Yes, and others. Please, come with me!"

Oromírië stroked the beech lovingly. At last she turned to Rebecca. "Come, little one, bring me to my future."

The others were delighted at Oromírië's arrival, and deeply bereft by Sylvatica's passing.

"She was fading ere we stopped here," sighed Sylvestris, shaking her crown of pine needles sadly. "The sorrow and journey were too much for her gentle spirit."

The Entwives spoke for many days with Radagast, while Rebecca fetched them bowls of water from the Erui. "It is not an Ent-draught," she apologized. "But the water is pure and sweet. Soon your kin will arrive with more nourishing refreshment."

At last they paused, exhausted by their long meeting. Rebecca sat beside the rowan. "Why does Fimbrethil call you 'Acuparia'?"

Oromírië smiled, remembering. "It means "fleet of foot". You see, I was vigorous and wandered far in my youth, going abroad to find Olvar for our beloved gardens. I traveled South, for that was unexplored territory in my day. I found such lovely flowering Olvar – magnolia, rhododendron, azalea. Lush forests gave way to the dry grassy plains of the mûmakil. Oh, what a joy to see them at home in their fields! I do not pay much heed to the Kelvar, save the birds, but how majestic are the mûmakil! It was terrible to see them in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Such gentle creatures forced into savage service – it made my heart weep. But then, we had enough horror of our own, when the Enemy started to burn our gardens…" She stopped and wept softly, her tears running like sap on either side of her elegant nose.

Rebecca leaned against her trunk, stroking her lightly. "Such horror belongs in the past, Oromírië. Much joy is unfolding – you must not give in to despair."

Oromírië nodded her leafy head. "Of course, one must look forward. I have not done so in many years."

"Just think – soon Bregalad will arrive! What rejoicing he will do, to see you looking so well."

Oromírië smiled, smoothed Rebecca's hair tenderly. "Yet I have no magnolia blooms to set around my face."

"He will love you still, and someday I will bring you armfuls of magnolia!"

Radagast approached. "My love, it is time."

"But Uncle, Treebeard has not yet come," protested Rebecca.

"Treebeard will be arriving soon with a party from Isengard, where they have suspended their work to bring Ent-draughts to their thirsty kin. I must await his arrival; we have much to discuss, he and I."

"Can I not wait, too, Uncle? I would dearly love to see Treebeard and Quickbeam…"

"We agreed you would return for the mereth," he said gently. "It has been almost a fortnight."

"Surely they will not miss me," she pleaded.

"Rebecca, remember what we have discussed. You are more prepared now. You must return."

"I shall never be prepared. And I so wanted to see Treebeard again…"

"You shall see him soon enough. Go, now. I have saddled Alfirin for you."

Oromírië patted Rebecca as she mounted her horse. "I thank you, little one, for your kind words. I look forward to our next meeting."

Rebecca bowed her head. "Ilúvatar be with you and bless you, lady."

Rebecca looked longingly over her shoulder as Alfirin plodded slowly down the path. Radagast spoke a gentle word to the horse, which began a swift trot.

"Traitor," Rebecca murmured to him.

Alfirin merely snorted and maintained his pace.

On the second day of her journey east, evening fell and, as the stars began their courses, Rebecca arrived at the palace of Emyn Arnen. A servant greeted her in the stables. "My lady has given instructions that you are to join her upon your return," he informed her as he took a tired Alfirin to his stall.

Reluctantly, she went to Éowyn's chambers. "Ah, there you are at last! So disheveled from your journey! Hurry, a bath awaits; you'll find a gown there for you."

Some of her weariness faded as she bathed. She pinned her curls on top of her head and emerged in the blue gown Éowyn had provided. She plucked nervously at it. "I should feel out of place, lady," she protested. "Perhaps I could merely watch the mereth…"

"Nonsense! The King will want an account of your adventures with the Entwives," rejoined Éowyn.

"I am not clever at telling a tale," she murmured.

Éowyn noted her high color, the manner in which she fumbled with the brocade of her bodice. "There will be many a handsome Man and Elf with whom to dance."

Rebecca pulled at a loose thread. Éowyn wondered if the purpose of the mereth discomfited her young friend. The way she glowed when the prince called her 'Aiwë' had not gone unnoticed. She rose from her seat and went to the window. "I find Legolas' choice… regrettable," she said over her shoulder.

"You do not care for the Lady Dolressa?"

"Let us say that I do not care for her demeanor with others. She is proud, which is a failing I myself used to claim. But it is not without remedy. The right kind of love can heal many things."

"She doesn't seem to like me much," admitted Rebecca.

"She doesn't like anyone, save the Prince, and sometimes I wonder about that," replied Éowyn. "I fear she may be more enamored with his title and lineage than his heart."

"He is so full of joy and life…I do not understand their love," Rebecca sighed.

"Nor I, dear Rebecca, but it _is_ his choice to make," Éowyn said gently.

Rebecca nodded. Unhappiness was in her downcast eyes, the droop of her shoulders.

"Haldir will claim a dance, no doubt," smiled Éowyn, lifting Rebecca's chin to meet her gaze.

Rebecca looked mortified. "Oh, I hope not, lady!"

Éowyn was surprised. "I thought you were fond of Haldir!"

"I am! It's just that I…well, I don't… dance."

Éowyn laughed. "Well, then, Radagast has been much remiss in his duties of teaching you the ways of society! But come, let me share with you my little bit of knowledge on the subject."

An hour later, Faramir knocked upon his lady's door. "Beloved? The mereth has begun and we desire your presence."

He opened the door to the enchanting tableau of his wife and Rebecca romping across her chambers in what looked to be a reel. He stood several moments, smiling at their antics until they became aware of him, at which point they burst out laughing.

"The proper place for such activity is the ballroom, ladies," he said, folding his arms across his chest. He was resplendent in a burgundy velvet tunic and leather breeches.

"I would be honored to escort the beauty of the realm," he said with a bow.

Rebecca's hand trembled slightly as he placed it in the crook of his arm. She accompanied them with reluctant steps.

The Great Hall was aglow with the light of many torches when Rebecca stepped over the threshold on Faramir's arm. The sound of laughter greeted her, punctuating the music of harps, lutes, flutes and drums. Gondor's finest was there assembled; she breathed a sigh of relief when she scanned the room and found that Aragorn was nowhere in sight. She spied Legolas immediately; dressed in silver and green, his golden hair gleamed in the firelight.

Haldir was elated when he saw Rebecca enter, anxious as he was that she would not attend. He paused in his conversation with Legolas and Thranduil, but his faltering went unnoticed as their attention was also fixed upon the new arrivals.

"Who are these lovely ones?" asked the King, arching an eyebrow.

"That is Éowyn, the Lady of Ithilien, Ada. Wife to Prince Faramir."

"Charming, utterly charming. Almost Elfin in her beauty. And the other?"

"That is Aiwë, er, Rebecca. Ward to Aiwendil."

"Surely not the little gamin who romped about my palace in breeches! My, but she's grown!" Thranduil smiled broadly; something in his grin made Legolas uneasy. He was well aware of his father's avarice for life's pleasures – particularly wine, jewels and women. When his mother chose to return to the West after the War, he had tolerated his father's open pursuit of them. But when he thought of Rebecca as the recipient of his father's embraces, something boiled within him.

For his part, Haldir's face was stoic, but his eyes shot daggers into the forest king. He remembered his resolve to keep himself firmly planted between the king and his prey. He excused himself and went to her.

He was delayed in his approach by a tall man who bowed formally to Faramir. The prince greeted him with reserve. Rebecca watched closely as Faramir presented him as Lokirim, ambassador to the King from Harad. His ebony hair ebony was plaited with gold and his bearing was proud. He kissed her hand and she met his gaze. His eyes were piercing like Elladan's, but far less amicable. His grim little smile went nowhere near those eyes.

"Where is your queen?" he inquired.

"She remains in Minas Tirith," replied Faramir. "She is with child and the King would not permit her to travel."

"I wonder at his leaving her," remarked Lokirim.

"She is early in her carrying," Éowyn replied defensively. "The King travels here on behalf of his dearest friend."

At that moment, the King himself arrived and approached the group. Rebecca slipped away just as he joined them. Haldir followed her to the terrace, whence she had retreated.

Aragorn shook Lokirim's hand. "Lokirim. Welcome to Ithilien."

The tall man bowed slightly. "I am honored, sire."

Aragorn, in turn, bowed. Éomer and Faramir noticed the formality of their greeting and sensed that the ambassador was not to be trusted.

"I bring greetings from my people," said Lokirim. "It heals my heart to see your fair Ithilien thus restored."

Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgement, but it was clear that he questioned the sincerity of the statement.

"I crossed the Fords on the Harad Road," continued Lokirim with a frown. "I was stopped and questioned for a long while. It seems the Elves mistake ambassadors for scouts."

"I fear the injuries of the past lead our allies to caution in the present," retorted Faramir.

Lokirim smiled coldly. "Of course. And yet, the Haradrim are now your allies, so there is little need for concern. There were, it seemed to me, only a small band of Elves. It cheers me to see that you have not drawn a fence of barbed wire between our lands."

Aragorn smiled. "Do not misjudge the barbs of Elven archers, Lokirim. Their skill is renown for good reason."

Lokirim nodded. "They shall have no reason to employ such talents against Harad, I assure you."

"I am glad of it. There has been enough war," replied Aragorn, whose diplomacy was strained with this man he deemed to be false.

While Aragorn sparred with the voice of Harad, Rebecca found a stone bench on the star-cooled terrace. The first lightening bugs were flitting through the darkened woods and they lifted her heart with their charm.

Haldir approached her, his fair hair lit by the glow of the hall behind him. Rebecca smiled sheepishly in welcome. "It is so warm inside," she offered as way of explanation for yet another hasty retreat.

"Indeed," he replied, conscious that the matter of a kiss lay between them. For his part, he would repeat the performance if the lady was willing, but he could discern nothing from her demeanor. She was simple and open as ever, offering neither signs of rejection nor flirtation.

He sat almost gingerly beside her. They were silent for some moments. "You have returned in the nick of time," he said at last. "We were, all of us, concerned that you would become beguiled by the forest, Aiwë."

She laughed. "'Twould have been easy to do so. The Entwives are so lovely. Wise and gentle, with many stories to tell."

"May I join you on your next visit?" he asked. "I would like to hear these tales."

"Of course. I shall be glad of your company and I will introduce you to Oromírië, or Acuparia as Fimbrethil names her."

"She is a favorite of yours as well as of Fimbrethil?"

"Oh, yes! She is all grace and wit and kindness…" she struggled to find adequate words and gave up the effort. "You must meet an Entwife and sit at her feet to begin to understand her depth. It is unfathomable."

He turned the conversation. "It is a merry assembly. Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

Rebecca sighed. "I will, Haldir, but do not consider it an honor. Unlike Acuparia, I am lacking in grace."

"Nonsense!" he laughed, taking her hand. "You will be light as a feather in my arms!"

Rebecca shook her head doubtfully as they returned to the crowded hall. To her surprise, she found in Haldir a partner who led her so well through the steps as to make her feel capable on her feet. She was beginning to enjoy herself when the music paused and a tall bearded man clapped Haldir upon the shoulder.

"You will not monopolize the beauties of Ithilien, you rogue!"

Haldir greeted the intruder with a tight, annoyed smile. "We've hardly finished one dance, Éomer king."

"Ridiculous!" exclaimed the other. He firmly pushed the Elf aside. "I insist upon my turn!"

So saying, he twirled Rebecca away into a reel. "I am Éomer of Rohan, at your service, lady. I hope I arrived in time to spare you from that arrogant denizen of Lorien?"

She laughed. "He is dear to me and not at all prideful, majesty."

"No royal titles, if you please! Éomer is all you need call me!"

"Very well, sire…Éomer. I am Rebecca."

He grinned. "Ah, ward of Radagast! Well met! Come, tell me about the mûmakil."

She did so, albeit with difficulty as the reel was taking her breath as well as her concentration.

As the music stopped, it was Éomer's turn to be replaced. Gimli appeared, introduced himself with a bow, and offered a glass of wine to Rebecca. "I don't dance, lassie, but I can drink with the best of 'em!"

Éomer was put out. "And where is mine?"

"Get your own, horsemaster!"

"A fine way to treat an old friend! And when are you going to come repair Helm's Deep? After all, I have promised you free reign in the Glittering Caves."

"One thing at a time, sire. I must finish my labors here in Gondor."

"Béma's beard, am I always to play second to Gondor?" he demanded in mock outrage. He kissed Rebecca's hand and went in search of ale and another partner.

"I thought you might need some refreshment," Gimli explained as he led her to an empty bench beneath a large open window. "Haldir is an ass and Éomer no better!"

Rebecca grinned. "You do not approve of my partners, I see."

"Nay. I have been asked to keep you safe until another may attend you," he replied, taking a long swig from his tankard.

"Indeed! Was I in danger, then?"

The Dwarf shook his head. "Hard to say, lady, although my comrade seemed to think so," He grinned at her. "Grown up you have, since I last saw you on that wizard-hill in Fangorn!" He paused and lifted an admiring finger to her jewel. "My, now here's a fancy piece! Simple, elegant. By whose hand was it wrought?"

"It comes from Valinor," she explained. "Radagast tells me it was set by Aulë himself."

Gimli's eyes widened. "He is the Father of my kind, the Master of all craftsmen!"

Legolas approached and stood before them with arms crossed. "You are not permitted to keep Aiwë to yourself, my friend."

Gimli raised an eyebrow, cocked his head toward the Elf. "Shall I relinquish you to this dullard, lady?"

She stood. "I am duty bound, sir. After all, it is his mereth."

"I beg you, lady, do not humor him overmuch. If he recites poetry, stop your ears!" smiled Gimli, who cast a keen, knowing glance at his friend.

Legolas slid one arm about her waist and took her hand in his. "Whatever he told you, Aiwë, it isn't true," he declared as they joined in the dance.

Rebecca laughed. "He told me you were a prince among Elves. The finest of your race."

Legolas smiled. "Ah, well, I stand corrected! He sometimes hits the mark." His eyes twinkled as he looked into her own. She had piled her hair atop her head; why had he never noticed its sweet aroma? "I have not seen enough of you, Aiwë. Tell me of your adventures to the west."

Rebecca spoke of Acuparia and the expected visit from Treebeard and his fellows. Legolas nodded. "Ah, at last, some good news for the Ents! But where is Aiwendil?"

"He awaits Treebeard with the ladies. I suspect Uncle would rather be in their company than attend a fancy ball. He gets so absorbed in his work."

Legolas held her gaze knowingly. "As would you, Aiwë. I am pleased you overcame your reticence to attend the mereth, for tonight we celebrate the renewal of Ithilien. But why do you call it _my_ mereth?"

Rebecca looked at him, astonished. "You do not know?"

"Know what, sweet Aiwë?"

She slowed in her steps as the music ceased. "Oh, dear," she murmured, placing her fingertips to her lips.

At that moment, Thranduil descended upon the couple. Dolressa was on his arm, resplendent in a gown embroidered with silver gems.

The woodland king bowed, taking Rebecca's hand and placing a lingering kiss upon it. "Ah, my little Rebecca! How you have grown!"

Rebecca dropped a curtsey. "Please…please excuse me, majesty," she murmured as she extricated herself from Legolas' arms. She hastily retreated from the hall.

Legolas watched her departure with concern.

"The child is so shy," purred Dolressa.

Thranduil shrugged and smiled. He took Legolas by the arm and led them to the dais before the musicians.

"Mae govannen, lords and ladies!" he announced to the assembly. "Please, join me and raise your glasses," He turned to the couple, one of whom was beginning to fidget. "To my heir and my Iell – Ionmin, when shall you be a bridegroom?"

Legolas blanched at Dolressa's glare, which indicated that she expected a response. The silence following the clink of glasses was profound. Gimli harrumphed.

Thranduil clapped his hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "Come, the date shall at last be set, that your feär may be knit as one."

Had Rebecca witnessed this, she would have seen the telltale dimple in Legolas' cheek appear as a chink in marble, for frozen as a statue was he.

Aragorn noticed his friend's dismay and came abruptly to his rescue. "Yes, sire, we shall all drink to the beauty and unity of marriage! But let us not spend our evening in speech when there are such lovely ladies with whom to dance!"

He caught Faramir's eye and the other concurred speedily. "Aye, my lord, just so!" He nodded to the musicians who promptly picked up their instruments and began to play.

Tessel found Rebecca upon the terrace. Long had he suspected her affections for his prince, and it troubled his heart to see her looking so bereft. "Come, Aiwë, let us show them how to dance," he said, taking her hand in his.

She felt safe with her old friend as he led her through the dance. He was most reluctant to hand her off to his king when he interrupted them. It was clear to Tessel that Thranduil had consumed his fill of Dorwinion wine, yet he could not refuse his own king.

Tessel rejoined Haldir, who stood scowling.

"Ro caele beika fion," muttered Tessel.

"Sogannen," agreed Haldir with disgust. "Again."

Tessel shook his head. "Judge not too harshly, cousin. Thus he has been since the departure of his wife. He is too proud to admit her importance in his heart, and he is too stubborn to quit his kingdom and follow her into the West."

Legolas joined them. Dolressa had left the hall in a pique and he had not followed her.

"No date yet?" grinned Tessel.

"No."

"You'd best be about it, my prince. Your lady now has a mereth under her belt. She will expect results."

Legolas looked distracted. "Where is my father?" he asked suddenly.

The trio scanned the hall with growing concern. "I will check the gardens whilst you search the halls," Legolas said hastily.

They separated, intent on interrupting any private audience that Thranduil had arranged.

Their fears were well founded. The King had led Rebecca from the hall, telling her they must walk a bit along the terrace to see the stars more clearly. "You were always fond of stargazing," he recalled fondly.

"Yes, sire," she replied, becoming uneasy as they paused in a rather darkened bower.

"Nae saian lummé, Rebecca," said the king with a gleam in his eye that made the lady uncomfortable. "It has been too long since I laid eyes upon you."

"Yes," she agreed, keeping her distance. "It has been many years since I dwelt in the Woodland Realm."

"Had I known you would grow into such a beauty, I'd never have let you leave my court. Lle naa vanima, Aiwë." She bristled at this endearment from him. It did not belong on the lips of this arrogant drunkard. She tried very hard to remember the King as he was in her youth – a kind man, almost a father to her, laughing gently at her breeches and boots. He was a proud ruler of one of the most magical kingdoms in Middle Earth, then as now, but he had treated her as a daughter before. Would that he still behaved as such. She fervently wished she was in her old leather breeches and boots instead of the hindering gown and slippers. She had little hope of outrunning him.

He laid a curious finger upon the gem at her throat, lifting it lightly. "I prefer white gems to all others. This is the loveliest I have ever beheld."

Rebecca felt the stone balustrade against the small of her back. She could retreat no further. She smelled the wine on Thranduil's breath as he placed a hand on either side of her hips.

"We need more time to get reacquainted. Rebecca. My chambers are not far; perhaps we could retire…"

"Saes, sire, I must beg to be excused. I am not accustomed to such…attention."

"I know just the thing to revive you," he whispered as he moved his hands up to her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss.

Rebecca clamped her mouth shut against him as his hands slid from her shoulders down her back, bringing her closer. She balled her hands into fists and pushed hard at his chest, but his arms were more powerful.

"_Ada_!"

She felt Thranduil release her in surprise and she wiped her hand across her mouth, resisting the desire to spit. She blushed with shame as she faced a stricken Legolas, eyes wide with shock as he looked from her to his father.

"Ada! Man _car_?"

"We were speaking of jewels, Ion…"

"That's not what it looks like to me, Ada!" Legolas replied indignantly.

While they exchanged words, Rebecca seized the opportunity to slip past Thranduil and darted past them with a mumbled apology.

Legolas noted her discomfort and turned again to his father. "How _could_ you, Ada?"

"I fail to understand your concern, Legolas. She is a hardy female past the age of consent."

"She was _not_ giving her consent," he retorted angrily. "She is an innocent and I will not have you honoring her with your fleeting attentions!"

The truth suddenly dawned upon the woodland king. "Díheno, ion! I did not understand…"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you not aware, Ionmin, that you desire her?"

Legolas was dumbstruck. "I never said…"

Thranduil regarded his son steadily. "It seems you have before you two options, Ionmin. You could forsake Dolressa and pursue your Aiwë, or you could wed your long-time, patient fiancé and accept your little bird as mistress."

Legolas blanched. "I would never to that to her!"

"To which 'her' do you refer, Legolas?" asked his father with an arched brow. "Never mind. Your choice is clear to me. I wonder how long you will be able to keep it from yourself?"

Legolas made no answer as his father turned and made his way back to the hall.

Meanwhile, Rebecca ran full throttle down the garden steps, seeking welcoming solitude. In her haste, she did not see the tall shadow of a man concealed. She had reached the lowest terrace when she ran headlong into someone's arms. With mounting dismay, she recognized the king of Gondor.

And on the upper terrace, a prince turned from the gaiety of his mereth to walk alone under the stars.

_Things Elvish:  
Eä – _Let these things be  
_Iell_ – daughter  
_Ion_ – son  
_Feär_ – souls  
_Ro caele beika fion_ – He has had too much wine  
_sogannen _- drunk  
_Nae saian lummé_ – It has been too long  
_Ada_ - father  
_Lle naa vanima_ - You are beautiful  
_Saes _- please  
_Ada! Man car- _Father! What are you doing?  
_Díheno_ – Forgive me!  
_Ionmin_ – my son

* * *

_**Next: Revelations**_


	15. Revelations

**REVELATIONS**

Music from the mereth above drifted down to the palace gardens of Emyn Arnen. Lilacs and wood hyacinths lent their fragrance to the shadows. The evening was deep and cool, in contrast to the heated fury in Rebecca's cheeks.

Aragorn held the breathless girl at arm's length. "Elbereth, my lady, slow down! From what do you flee with such ardor?" he asked, looking behind her for the source of her haste.

Her flush turned to ash as she regarded him, the last person - save Thranduil – that she wanted to see. She lowered her face in deference. "Forgive me, sire."

"What is your name, lady?"

"I am Rebecca, sire."

"Ah, you must be Radagast's ward! I have looked forward to our meeting," he exclaimed.

She attempted to shield her face, knowing he would see the truth in her eyes. "I am sorry, sire, to meet you thus. Perhaps on the morrow…"

Aragorn again glanced up the steps. "Has something happened upstairs? What is it that troubles you so, Rebecca?"

It was his tone that was her undoing – so tender and concerned. She raised her eyes to his and he saw, immediately.

"By the Powers," he whispered, falling back onto a stone bench. "Who are you?"

"I am the daughter of Gilraen the Fair and Elrond of Rivendell," she replied softly.

She stood before him, her head hung, silent. She had known since meeting her kin in Rivendell that this moment was inevitable, but now she found herself speechless. She had knowledge of him – his heroics during the War, the restoration of the lost kingdoms of Númenor and, of course, his legendary romance with the daughter of Elrond. Elrond, her own father. She wished to run away, but could not. Many moments of silence passed.

She felt him reach up and, taking her hands, he spoke her name. "Rebecca. Sit beside me."

She did not look at him as he pulled her gently to the bench. He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her blue-gray eyes.

"Gosta-nin, muinthêlmin?"

Her eyes searched his as if by so doing she could discern his thoughts. "Yes," she whispered.

"Ah. That will not do."

"I am sorry…" she faltered and felt a tear trace its path down her cheek.

"Ah, hirilmin," and he pulled her into his strong arms.

She had not expected this act of tenderness. Something within her that had incubated in her heart since Tom's revelation on that snowy morn in the House Under the Hill shattered like a glass hurled against a stone wall. She sobbed, quite loudly, in the arms of the King of Gondor and Arnor. Her brother.

She did not know how long she wept. She was vaguely aware that he rocked her in his gentle embrace. He spoke softly and hushed her.

At last the storm of her tears was spent. She sniffed indelicately and pushed away from him, dragging an ornately embroidered sleeve across her nose. Again she looked into his eyes and murmured, "I am sorry."

He smiled. "For what, melui?"

"For me. For my shame. I was at peace ere I knew my parents."

He shook his head. "Nay, do not speak foolishly. Your lineage is noble – you have naught of which to be ashamed. No, you are a great gift to me, a sister."

She watched his face, memorizing each feature. "Did you know, about…them?"

He sighed. "No, I did not, but… there was a sadness about my mother always, yet in her latter days…I understand now. She regretted losing you."

"Perhaps she regretted _me_."

He frowned. "That cannot be true. Our mother was kind and loving. She sorrowed she left me no kin, my father died so young…She looked to Elrond to assist me, raise me as his own. Their love had many years to kindle."

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably. "You have the advantage of me, sire. I have no knowledge of these people, save from lore."

Aragorn shook his head. "You must call me Aragorn, Rebecca. And 'tis no great advantage, my knowledge, I assure you. Would you have known your father all his life, still you may not understand him."

Unconsciously, she folded her arms across her chest and turned away. "Do not use that word. My true father is Radagast. I do not care about Elrond."

Aragorn studied her profile. "Of course not, melui. In your place, I would say the same."

Rebecca flashed him a quick, almost angry glance. "You are not in my place, sire."

"Aragorn," he reminded her gently.

She studied her slippers. "Your path is clear, your kingship established. Mine is clouded with too many questions."

"I walked alone in darkness for many years, Rebecca. My future was ever uncertain. The War made it clear to me. You will find your road."

He reminded her of the sons of Elrond. Like Elladan, his intellect was piercing, his wit keen. But he had Elrohir's gentle manner, his tender insight. She sighed. "It is hidden from me."

"It is clear to me that you have the gift of healing. You are part of the Nestad."

She shook her head. "I thought I understood my role, to find the Entwives and bring beauty to Middle Earth with their help. Now Uncle speaks of mending the paths of the Kindred. I know nothing of these lofty matters – I'd rather work with the Olvar and Kelvar. I understand _their_ ways."

"Radagast is a mentor to you, as was Gandalf to me. Their plans are not always clear, but their counsel is sound."

"I wish I could go back to the House Under the Hill," she confessed. "Life was so open and simple then."

Aragorn took her hand. "It is not your lot to do so, muinthêlmin. And there is much joy in the world, you will see."

Unconsciously, she glanced up the garden steps to the lights above. The wedding of Legolas would not bring her joy. She spoke not of this, but Aragorn noticed her sadness and wondered.

"Come, let us return to the mereth and share a glass of wine in Legolas' honor," he suggested.

She paled. "Nay, sire, I beg to be excused – I am not used to so many people at once."

"You must learn to call me Aragorn. And I understand. Very well. We shall meet on the morrow and speak of many things." He engulfed her in a long, warm embrace. She felt reassured, safe, as she never had before.

As they parted, the man in the shadows smiled. His information was complete. This was the one whom he was sent to find.

Glancing across the stone pavement of the terrace, he spied a slim figure, white in the moonlight, hiding behind an urn vigorous with flowers. His smile became a smirk and he put a finger to his lips to silence her. She raised her chin in a huff and disappeared into the darkness.

While the King conversed with Rebecca, Legolas had been recognizing his feelings for that same lady. As he ascended the steps to the upper terrace, Aragorn was surprised to encounter him. He saw immediately the look of consternation upon his fair countenance. "You have chosen the night instead of your mereth, my friend. What drives you hence?"

Legolas leaned against the balustrade, shoulders sagging. "My heart is not within," he sighed.

"Ah," Aragorn nodded, long having sensed this betrothal to be ill suited. He guessed that Legolas pined for the Sea, or could it be something else? Images put themselves together in his mind – Rebecca fleeing the mereth, her longing glance up to the palace, her sadness, and now Legolas' dejection. He no longer wondered. "You have ended it, then?"

"No, I…not yet. I will do so presently."

"You are right in doing this, Legolas. Your heart indeed lies elsewhere."

He did not reply as Dolressa climbed the steps from the garden below. Aragorn bowed and departed.

Legolas turned to her with a slight bow. "You seek the peace of the gardens, lady?"

"I seek an answer," she declared, crossing her arms across her breast. "When do we wed? It is now or never, sir."

He had faced many in battle, but none were as difficult as this. "Never, Dolressa."

She blanched. "Mani ume lle quena?"

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "N'úma. It's no use, Dolressa. It cannot be."

"Mankoi?"

"It is entirely my fault," he explained. "We have been growing apart for some time, Lady. The Sea calls me; someday I shall return to Valinor. I should have spoken, ended this sooner. I am truly sorry."

"Lle lakwenine?" she asked indignantly. "It is not your love of the Sea that stands between us, Legolas. What kind of game are you playing?"

"No game, lady. This is over."

"It is _not_. Don't fool yourself. Haldir has already claimed your tithen Aiwë's affections for his own."

Legolas seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly. "That matter does not concern this one, Dolressa."

"Dolle naa lost, ernil. I refuse to consider your idea!"

"You must, Dolressa. I am declaring the Right of Revoking," he said, removing his silver ring and holding it out to her."

"No!" she cried, slapping his hand away. She turned upon her heel and returned to the hall.

Upon entering, she found Thranduil sipping wine, gazing reflectively upon the dance. He noticed her face as she approached. She seemed paler than usual.

"Sire, if I may, a word?"

"Of course," he replied, following as she led him out of the hall into a quiet corridor.

Dolressa's demeanor, although imploring, was stiff and proud. She faced him, full of rage. "Your ion would cast me aside, Âran-min!"

Thranduil closed his eyes, nodded. It was as he thought.

"You must turn him from this madness!"

He sighed. "Lady, I am his father, not his master. His decisions are his own."

"He must not abandon me – he has no right to do so!"

Thranduil placed his hands upon her slender shoulders. "If he has dissolved the match, what more is there to do, but begin anew?" he said gently.

"He was mine until _she_ came to this place!"

"Was he, lady? Why then did he not wed you upon your return from the War? No, look into your heart and you will see there an end to this matter. Awartha-nín ion, hiril."

"N'úma! I will not! I will not be thus humiliated!"

Thranduil frowned. "You do yourself shame in this manner. It is not love but pride which now drives you. Do you think I would aid you with such as your motivation? I will say no more." He turned away from her sharply and returned to the mereth. His head hurt and he wanted more wine.

"Such kind words from your king," purred a sinister voice.

Dolressa turned, pale and furious, fists clenched, and hurled her anger upon the newcomer as he stepped from the shadows. "Who are you, that you listen to the private affairs of others?"

Lokirim hissed dismissively. "Who indeed, lady? Are not your own knees darkened from your vantage behind a rather ornate stone urn? Not to my taste, this decorative Númenorean art…"

"What do you want?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Merely to console you upon the breaking of your intended nuptials," he replied smoothly.

"How _dare_ you? You know not of what you speak."

They were matched in height and in pride; his darkness contrasted with her pale beauty. He laughed in the face of her fury. "Come, lady, you may do me a service and I shall do one for you in turn. For I gather you would have the Lady Rebecca gone from your camp?"

"She is no lady, the chit!"

"Just so and yet what an unusual one. Sister to the King of Gondor and scion of Lord Elrond himself? What a prize for your former betrothed!"

"He will _not_ wed her," she snarled.

"Of course not, but we must turn him from such folly back to your…warm embrace."

"How?"

"Quite simply, we must remove her. She is of use to certain friends of mine. But we cannot catch the fish without bait. Have you something of your prince, some token she will recognize with which she may be lured?"

Dolressa looked at her hand. Hesitantly, she removed the silver ring. "He gave me this, upon our betrothal. She has seen it."

"Ah, perfect!" he cried, snatching the ring before she could reconsider. "This will do nicely."

He bowed and took his leave. "You may depend upon me, lady. This matter shall be resolved swiftly, to both our satisfaction."

Dolressa stared after him, wondering what she had done.

Legolas continued to walk along the terrace. Never before had he felt so miserable at a mereth, frustrated by his conversation with Dolressa and devastated to think of an agreement existing between Rebecca and Haldir.

He heard a light footstep behind him. Haldir approached and handed him a glass of wine. "I suspect you need this," he stated flatly.

"Aye. Thank you, cousin."

Haldir, sipping from his own cup, looked up at the night sky. "You have been out here for quite a while. Your father returned to the mereth some time ago. Where is Aiwë?"

"I do not know. Haldir, I have been thinking. Forgive me for so boldly asking, but have you…entered into a liaison with Aiwë?"

Haldir raised an eyebrow.

Legolas caught the look in his eye. "Are we rivals, cousin?"

Haldir took a deep drink. He swallowed, exhaled. "You are betrothed. _Are _we…rivals?"

Legolas sighed, hung his head. "Cousin, I would never take what is yours."

Haldir drained his cup and studied the bottom. "She is not mine."

Legolas lifted his gaze. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"Then I would make her mine, cousin. If she would have me."

"Do you not have a betrothed?"

"I have ended it."

Haldir looked deeply into his eyes. "My own arrow will strike you down should you hurt her. Know this."

Legolas nodded. "Understood."

"Have you spoken of this with Aiwë?"

"No. I have only just read my own heart."

"Should she wish to choose another, I will vie for that role," warned Haldir.

"Also understood. And, should that be the case, I will wish you well."

Haldir sighed. "Come, cousin, you must not linger – Éomer has challenged Gimli to a drinking game."

Legolas laughed. "Gimli will lose!" He turned to Haldir. "Will you not join me?"

"Nay. My heart is too full. I will walk a while beneath the trees," he replied, turning into the garden.

Legolas watched him go and wondered. Would _either_ be her choice?

It was a long journey from Khand to Amrûn, the capital of the Easterlings. Pallando now sat in conference with their Emperor, a treaty from the Variags and the Haradrim in hand.

"We were promised many things by the Dark One of Mordor," said the Emperor in halting Westron.

"Our alliance will fulfill those promises," declared Pallando.

"I want to expand my borders. All of the lands lying east of the Anduin. And a third of the riches of Minas Tirith. Harad and Khand can argue over the remainder.

Pallando nodded. "Your terms shall be met, majesty. All parties are in agreement. With your infantry and the mûmakil, we will overrun Ithilien in a matter of days, then take Minas Tirith."

The Emperor stroked his long beard and studied Pallando's face. "I must consider. Leave me." He clapped his hands and an attendant arrived to escort the wizard from the royal presence.

"Resolve quickly, my lord. The sooner you decide, the sooner Gondor is ours."

After the council, Pallando surveyed the landscape from his mountain vantage. Tents were scattered before him, chips of color on a rocky terrain. Garrisons of soldiers had arrived from the Eastern provinces. They waited now for orders from their Emperor.

If negotiations were successful, he would soon have them march to war.

Pallando was no longer a tattered wizard in filthy blue robes. This day he wore garments of black and scarlet, embroidered richly in gold – the combined colors of his allies. On his finger was an enormous emerald, a gift from the warlord emperor of Khand.

Despite his new clothing, Pallando was at heart an uncertain, frightened being.

"These were Alatar's peoples," said Pallando nervously. "They are unknown to me – I am at a disadvantage here."

"We are _never_ at a disadvantage, thanks to me," replied Saruman.

His disembodied voice had been Pallando's constant companion for well over a decade; Pallando was able to see him clearly within his mind's eye – an angry, white bearded wizard with blazing black eyes.

"Without me you are nothing," Saruman went on as Pallando toyed with the medallion on his breast. "Besides, these were never allies of Alatar. They were indifferent at best, antagonistic more often. They suit our needs perfectly."

"Ought I tell the Emperor that Harad wants total control of Minas Tirith?"

"Don't be stupid. Let that concern them after our goal is achieved."

"They have not offered us tribute as they did in the South," Pallando pointed out, almost sullen.

Saruman laughed scornfully. "Looking for another virgin, are you? Don't worry, fool. One above all others will come to us anon. She is well worth the wait."

"I don't care about women," protested Pallando defensively. "Only power."

"You are such a simpleton," sneered Saruman. "And you are a liar. Don't forget I was present for your little skirmish with the Southron girl. You enjoyed her well enough."

"No more or less than I would enjoy a good bottle of wine or a fine meal," maintained the other.

"True, these are of a par, but this one of whom I speak, she is far beyond any of your plebian delights. So much so that you could not begin to appreciate her worth, were it not for me."

"Who is this one?"

"Years ago, when I kept company with the murderous scum who robbed me of my corporeal shape, I met that old fool Radagast on the Greenway. In his keeping was a girl – a scrap of a thing, really – but such promise! It is she whom our ambassador seeks."

Pallando was incredulous. "You fancied her, Master?"

Saruman snorted in derision. "Not in that way, ass. Although," he paused in reflection. "Yes, perhaps she would be to my liking. Not your paltry Southron daisies. No, this one is a rose. And far above you, cretin, but as with everything these days I must depend upon your physical form. Through me you will enjoy more than your small imagination ever dreamt possible."

"I am grateful, Master…"

"And so you should be, Pallando, for I have saved you from ignominy in bestowing upon you my feä. Never forget that."

"And the girl, Master?"

"Yes, the girl. She is vital to us."

"I don't understand, Master. I thought our goal was to overrun Gondor?"

"We make war to harass and dismay our enemies but make no mistake. It is the possession of this girl that is the cornerstone of my plans. If she is in our keeping – and under our control – we hold the very trump card of the Powers. We will foil the Valar themselves!"

"If she poses a threat, she could be easily slain in battle," suggested Pallando.

In an instant, he felt as if his head would split in half, a sure way to tell that Saruman was seriously displeased.

"Do you comprehend anything, idiot? She is no good to me dead; she could accomplish her mission without interference if she dies. She must be alive if I am to control her. On either side of the choice of the Peredhil, she is powerful. But, if we hold her above that fence, we will succeed and thwart the designs of the Valar!"

Pallando faltered. "Do you not fear their wrath, Master?"

"Imbecile! I have survived by the artistry of Sauron, that most clever Maia of Aulë, who forged this very amulet for you. Sauron, in his turn, carried on the plans of Morgoth. It is noble work we do, Pallando, and it is I, Saruman, who will succeed on their behalf!"

In the deepest recesses of his mind, in the sliver of consciousness into which Saruman had not asserted his claim, Pallando was afraid. It had been the fate of Sauron and his lord Morgoth to be cast into the Void. If Saruman was wrong, if he was vanquished, then the wizard would join them and so too would he. Pallando fingered his amulet, wishing, not for the first time, that he had never put it on.

"PALLANDO!"

The wizard jumped, startled. "Y-yes, Master?"

"Whatever scrap of mentality you are using – banish it! I do not tolerate cowardice! I would bid you slit your own throat – and you would do it! – ere I allow you to waver in your service to me. Do I make myself clear?"

Pallando dropped the amulet back onto his chest as if its very metal burned his fingers. "Yes, Master, most clear."

"Good. Then let us return to our negotiations with the Emperor. There is a war we need to start."

_Things Elvish__  
Gosta-nin, muinthêlmin?_ – Do you fear me, my sister?  
_Hirilmin_ – my lady  
_Melui _– lovely one  
_Mani ume lle quena?_ – What did you say?  
_Mankoi?_ – Why?  
_Lle lakwenine?_ – Are you joking?  
_Dolle naa lost_ – Your head is empty  
_Ernil_ – prince  
_Tithen _- little  
_N'úma_ – never  
_Âran-min_ – my king  
_Awartha-nín ion, hiril_ – abandon my son, lady

**_Next: A Deep Breath Before the Plunge_**


	16. Deep Breath Before the Plunge

**A Deep Breath Before the Plunge**

A sunny morning dawned upon Emyn Arnen. In the Great Hall a large table had been set for breakfast.

Legolas was present, which struck Éowyn as unusual, given the proximity of his own camp. Aragorn smiled to himself, well aware of the reason behind his friend's attendance.

"It was a fine mereth," declared the Elf to his host.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Thranduil, whose bemused head still ached from wine and the evening's turn of events.

"Aye, Ithilien has never assembled such a company," Faramir concurred. He turned to his wife. "I see your brother has not risen with the sun?"

She laughed. "He and Gimli were in such a state they had to be escorted to their chambers. We will not see them for some time."

"Éomer does not have your fortitude, Legolas," said Aragorn with a grin.

Legolas shrugged. "Nor does Gimli, as I proved several times." He helped himself to a scone. "I see that Aiwë has not joined us."

Éowyn poured out tea." She often rises early to greet the birds in the garden."

"Perhaps you could retrieve her?" suggested Aragorn. "I would like to speak to her about the Entwives."

"Of course," replied Legolas promptly, leaving his half-buttered scone and excusing himself.

Faramir turned to Aragorn. "What do you suppose inspired such haste?"

"What, indeed?" mused the King.

Thranduil merely sighed and sipped at his strong tea.

Legolas swiftly left the palace and entered its gardens. His keen eyes spotted Rebecca sitting in a patch of morning sunshine near a fountain. Many small birds were gathered about her upon the ground as she fed them breadcrumbs.

Her face was lit with joy. "Radagast and the Ents are marching south to tend Fimbrethil and her court. Oromírië is well enough to make the trip! He says I too may join them, now that the mereth is over and I have spoken to…" she left off, not certain if she ought to speak to Legolas of her brother.

The Elf watched her closely. "Spoken with whom, Aiwë?"

"With the King, about the Ents. He will be pleased to hear this news."

"Stay a moment," he asked as she rose. "Sit with me awhile in the sunshine."

She sat down again, averting her eyes. The birds had also told her of an argument between the Prince and his betrothed. They said it had not ended well.

"Did the others not join Acuparia on the journey?"

"No," she sighed. "They are so fatigued. The Ent-draughts have revived them, but they are yet recovering. There is great grief among them over Sylvatica."

Legolas put his hand on hers. "There is often sadness amidst joy if war has played a part. Dwell not upon Sylvatica's fate, but think of Oromírië restored to health."

She nodded, studying his hand upon hers. At last she looked into his eyes. They were riveted upon her and he was smiling, the dimple in his cheek pronounced. "You have freckled in the sunlight, Aiwë."

She laughed, raising her hands to her cheeks. "I know it is not the way of fashionable ladies, but I am outdoors too much to bother."

"I would not change one – they are charming, Aiwë. They suit you."

She blushed furiously under her freckles. He began to speak, but was unable to continue as Gimli trudged across the lawn to join them.

The Dwarf sat upon a stone bench, a full stein in his hand.

"Already?" asked Legolas with an arched eyebrow.

"Hair of the dog, my friend, hair of the dog."

"Must have been quite a bite," observed the Elf, sizing up the tankard.

"Quisling Rohirrim cheats," Gimli muttered as he wiped the foam from his beard. "Pours 'em out when I'm not looking!"

Rebecca grinned. She had heard the King of Rohan from her chambers, singing an off-color tune as he tripped up the hallway in the early morning hours.

Gimli continued. "Drinks like a fish, this one," he said, nodding at Legolas. "Bested me three times, but always on my empty stomach."

Legolas protested. "We'd just come from feasting on each occasion! And you devoured more venison that I ever could."

Rebecca laughed. "Well, I shall challenge neither of you – I would surely lose!"

"I would rather share a bottle of wine with you than gulp down ale with this one," replied Legolas.

Rebecca was surprised by her boldness when she asked, "Is that an invitation?"

Legolas quickly took the bait. "Indeed it is! Let me call upon you this evening."

Gimli hid his smile in the beer. Legolas had confided in him about his wish to sever his connection with Dolressa. He admired his friend's alacrity; he certainly let no grass grow beneath his intentions.

"Until this evening, then," she said, rising. "I must find the King and tell him about the Ents."

Gimli looked at his friend as he watched her go. "You've done the honorable thing, then?"

"Hmm?"

The Dwarf snapped his fingers before his Legolas' face. "Have you?"

Legolas turned, bemused. "Have I what?"

"Ended your first affair before beginning a second?"

"Oh." Legolas' countenance fell. "I tried, Gimli. I did."

Gimli scowled. "What do you mean, _tried_?"

He sat beside the Dwarf, placing his hands on his knees, head hanging. "Dolressa would have none of it. She still has my ring of mithril."

"A ring is one thing, a groom another," snorted Gimli. "Have you made your intentions clear?"

"As clear as the waters of the Silverlode. But she refused to listen."

"Ah." Gimli took a long swig and wiped his beard. "What is your plan?"

Legolas sighed deeply. "I know what my heart desires."

"Yonder lady?" asked the Dwarf, nodding his head towards the palace.

"Aye. But I fear I am not her only suitor."

Gimli raised his eyebrows. "Competition, eh? Let me guess – that Rohirrim rogue?"

"Who? Oh. No, not Éomer. My kinsman, Haldir."

"That's even worse," said Gimli, shooing a rather large bumblebee away from his brew. "Arrogant, that one. Surely the lady has better taste!"

"Haldir is a fine Elf," continued Legolas. "Should she choose his suit over mine, I should not be dishonored."

"Hmpf. You pointy ears are so noble. But you can't fool this Dwarf. I have seen you in battle; you will not relinquish a fight so easily."

"Nay. This is not a fight I intend to lose."

"Then I ask you again – what do you intend? Carry the lady away over your shoulder? Write her some paltry verses of poetry?"

"I plan to install myself in her life like a mûmakil," replied the Elf firmly.

"Unmovable, eh? What lady could resist?"

As they finished breakfast, Faramir and his table were interrupted by the arrival of two scouts. They had just arrived at Emyn Arnen from the borders of Ithilien, bringing news of stirrings in the East and the South.

Faramir was grim. "You say that a wizard leads them?"

"Aye, sire, that is the report. A wizard has been uniting the Variags and Haradrim with the Easterlings."

"There are no wizards left in Middle Earth, save Radagast. He is incapable of such treachery," said Éowyn.

Aragorn frowned. "One wizard did not dare face the Valar – Pallando."

"I have never met this Pallando, but I am well-acquainted with his infamy," Legolas noted. "It was he that rallied the Haradrim on Sauron's behalf."

Shaking his head, Aragorn replied, "Gandalf told me much about him. He is weak and in need of guidance; he was quick to fall under the Dark Lord's sway. But he has not the stature for this undertaking – someone else must be driving him."

"Lokirim has gone from our court. He must have removed hastily in the night; no one seems to have an account of him," noted Faramir.

"So, we prepare for battle," sighed Aragorn.

"I shall send for Gamling to muster the Rohirrim on my brother's behalf. We fought and repelled the Haradrim before – the Fords shall withstand this threat."

"The Elves will guard them from the forests on the bluff." Aragorn paused, considering. "We shall send your Rangers to the North, Faramir."

He nodded. "My men are well-suited for combat on the rocky terrain there."

"Ithilien's Rangers are the bravest of men but they cannot repel the Easterlings alone. I shall send word to Imrahil to gather reinforcements."

That evening Legolas called upon Rebecca, basket in hand. "Shall we find a spot in the garden, Aiwë?"

"I would like that."

He led the way. She studied the back of his head, the way his braid swelled slightly in the center. The woods were redolent with sweetbriar.

They found a quiet spot where he unpacked the basket; Faramir's larder yielded ample amounts of food and wine.

After dining he set aside his glass. "Aiwë, I would speak to you about a matter of great import," he began.

"My lord?"

He frowned. "Saes, Aiwë, stop calling me that. You must call me Legolas!"

"Of course, Legolas."

He smiled. "Better. Aiwë, I do not know how to begin…" He reached for his glass and took a steadying swallow.

She watched him, finding his discomfiture intriguing. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning," she suggested.

He coughed. "Very well. Do you remember our first meeting? It was in a glade in Mirkwood. You were so young, hanging onto your horse. I saw you next at the Wizard's Hill in Fangorn. The birds were singing and wildflowers graced the carpet of the forest. You appeared over the hill, in tunic and trews stained at the knees. I caught you as you leapt – you blushed then, as you do now."

"I memorized your features – I knew not when, if, we would meet again. But I am no longer a child."

"No. Hardly so. You were grown into loveliness when I saw you by the river in Ithilien."

She laughed. "If I recall, you saw me _in_ the river."

He grinned. "Yes, you were trying to catch a speckled trout."

"Radagast taught me how to do that, but I've never had any success," she sighed.

"That evening we sat upon Amon Thoron, naming the stars."

"Yes, that was before we found the Entwives."

"You fell into Haldir's arms after you sang," he paused before continuing in a rush. "I wish you had fallen to me."

"What?" she was surprised, wondered where he was taking this.

"Aye. Had I caught you I never would have released you."

She cocked her head, studying him closely. "I don't understand…"

He laid his hand upon hers. "I am trying to tell you that I love you."

Her eyes widened. "You do?"

He closed his fingers around hers. "Yes, I do."

"But your lady, Dolressa – we celebrated your betrothal yesterday…"

He leaned closer, shaking his head firmly. "No, Aiwë. I have called off my engagement."

She stood hurriedly. "Nobody told me!" she replied as she turned away, flustered.

"I am telling you now," he said softly.

She felt him standing behind her. His fingers gently grazed her arms. She trembled at his touch. He turned her to face him, kissing her brow lightly. "It is you I love, Aiwë. You and no other."

Lifting her chin, he brought his mouth to hers, barely touching her lips.

"It's not possible," she murmured as he raised his head.

"It is only you I desire. Can you return my love?"

"Yes," she breathed before his lips descended again, more possessive now.

"Amin, Aiwë," he whispered against her mouth.

"Le anon meleth nín," she consented as he closed her in his embrace. She was insensible to anything but the rush of her emotions, his arms around her, his mouth upon hers as he tilted her head back with the ardor of his kiss.

Some time passed before he led her back to sit with him. He handed a wine glass to her, then took it and drank from the spot where her mouth had touched the rim. "Amin," he repeated.

"Meleth nín," she agreed happily, still in a daze.

"I have no token but this to give you," he said, removing the ring from his finger and placing it on hers. It was too large. She handed it back to him and held his hand. "I need no mithril to confirm my love. Wear this and think of me."

He closed his hand over hers. "I could not fail to do so," he assured her. "Soon I will give you a new ring, one that fits."

Lurking again in the shadow of the terrace, Lokirim noted their discussion and smiled. His plan was more certain to succeed with every clandestine kiss.

The following morning found Aragorn in council with Faramir, Legolas and Éomer. "Our scouts report the enemies are marching. They mean to repeat the strategy of the Wainriders, attacking simultaneously at Dagorlad and the Fords."

"Imrahil should be here within the week, as will your riders, Éomer. We will then disperse to the north and south."

"We must leave forces here to protect the palace," noted Faramir.

"I will speak with my king," Legolas volunteered. "He can stay here with a battalion of my archers."

Legolas found his father sitting in the gardens. A bottle of wine lay beside him, half-empty.

Thranduil raised his glass. "Join me, Ion. You have news, I suspect."

"We are to march south, Ada. The Haradrim advance."

"Ill tidings indeed."

"Will you extend your time with us and direct the guarding of the palace and our camp here?"

"I pray there be no need – surely the Southrons will not enter Gondor. You will stop them at the Fords."

"We also face an attack from the North – the Emperor's Easterlings at Dagorlad."

"I shall do as you wish, Ion. I suspect you want me to guard one lady in particular?" The king took his son's hand. "But you still wear your ring."

"I wear it in her honor now."

"And your former betrothed?"

Legolas shook his head. "I am no longer bound to her. I have made myself clear."

Thranduil sighed. "You have much to learn about women, Ion. This is far from over."

"It is as far as I am concerned, Ada."

"And your Aiwë?"

His sullen expression altered into one of wonderment and pride. "She has accepted me."

Thranduil shrugged. "What did you expect?"

"She might have chosen another."

"Reject the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, heir to my throne? Nonsense!"

Legolas scowled. "She does not care about all that, Ada."

"Chose you for love, eh? I thought that had gone the way of fashion."

"Don't be cynical, Ada. Aiwë is _not _Dolressa. She is not motivated by the desire for power or prestige."

"All the better. Well, I wish you well, Ion. Both of you. Even if you did not wait for my blessing."

"That _has_ gone the way of fashion, Ada."

"Hmpf. I smell that Dwarf coming. If you will excuse me…" The king picked up his bottle and disappeared into the gardens.

Thranduil's snobbery annoyed Legolas. His father had never gotten over his dislike of Dwarves, despite their valor in the Battle of Five Armies and the Battle Under the Eaves, not to mention Gimli's personal devotion to his son.

A week passed before the collective forces of Gondor and Rohan arrived in Ithilien.

Imrahil's soldiers were clad in armor that glinted silver in the noonday sun. Their shields bore the standard of their king – a white blossoming tree beneath seven stars and a silver crown.

In contrast, Éomer's riders wore green and were armed with spears and long swords set with emeralds. On their shields rode a white horse under a golden sun and green banners. Their horses looked weary from the long journey.

Rebecca found the Dwarves oddest of all. They seemed a motley crew, armed in heavy chain mail that reached to their knees. Each one carried a two-handed axe with a short broad sword in his scabbard and a round shield slung across his back. Their plaited beards were tucked into their belts and their faces were grim; she saw no trace of the jocular Gimli in their visages. Their language was harsh and strange to hear.

She had never seen armed forces. She was disturbed to think of their purpose and their futures. How many of these Men, these Dwarves and horses, would return with their lives?

She entered the Great Hall and found the captains bent over a map of Ithilien. She did not wait to be introduced to Imrahil or Gamling. "You are discussing the defense of the Fords. I will send a raven to Radagast – perhaps Treebeard and his Ents may be of assistance."

"A good idea," agreed Aragorn. "Their service will be a welcome addition to the Rohirrim and archers."

"You must not forget the mûmakil. They do not wish to go to war any more than Rohan's horses."

"Rebecca, our horses of Rohan ride proudly into battle – they are sturdy and true."

"But my lord, they do not wish to _be_ there! There is no war-lust in a horse any more than a mûmakil! They only go forward because their masters propel them thus."

Aragorn folded his arms upon the table. "What do you propose?"

"Let me go before your armies – let me speak to them!"

Aragorn shook his head. "To the Haradrim? They would pierce you with many arrows before you could open your mouth."

"Nay, not to them but to their steeds – let me sing an aerlinn to the mûmakil! Train your archers on their riders, but let me sing!"

Aragorn shook his head vehemently and placed his hand on her cheek. "Rebecca, you are not fluent in the language of war. Such as you propose – it is impossible."

"Not for _me_!" she protested, searching his face. "Not for me! I speak in the tongue of every living thing – you must believe me! Many lives will be spared if…"

He took her hands in his. "You cannot believe you can quell an army."

"But I _can_! If the mûmakil abandon their riders, what then? The Haradrim will be forced to go on foot, dismayed, and you will subdue them."

Legolas stood. "You will do no such foolish thing! You will not risk your life in vain!"

She turned to him angrily. "It is _your_ plans that are in vain! Where will the Southrons be without their mighty steeds?"

"Shooting at you, for one!" he retorted. 

She turned back to her brother. "Heed me, my King. If the mûmakil are stopped, their warriors will be confounded."

"Aragorn, you cannot agree to this! She will be lost to us!"

"Do you think that I would pursue a foolish cause? Have you no faith in the Nestad?"

He took hold of her shoulders. "I have seen battle, Aiwë, have you? I have seen the worst of war. Reason has no place on a battlefield."

She shook her head. "No creature of light would destroy itself willingly. You must trust me – the mûmakil ride forth under the bidding of foolish masters. When they understand…"

Legolas colored. "And how will they know this? In full charge? They will trample you ere you could speak!"

"They will _not_! Have you heard naught of the Song of Yavanna? Do you not know that the same aerlinn that wakened the Entwives will still her creatures?"

Legolas turned to Aragorn, desperate. "Surely you see, Aragorn? This is madness!"

Aragorn stood. "I will not risk you in open war, Rebecca."

"Fine!" she cried. "Let it be before this war begins! You must let me sing!"

Legolas was furious. "Forbid her, Aragorn! Make her stay at the palace with the lady Éowyn!"

"I must go to meet Radagast," she maintained stubbornly.

"You would be safer here, Aiwë," noted Haldir.

"I will not fail in my duty to my Uncle or to my Ents," she warned, folding her arms across her chest.

Aragorn interceded. "You may ride to the Elves' camp but no further. You are not to go to the Fords."

She seemed appeased by this although Legolas did not. She bowed and took her leave.

"Aragorn," Legolas pressed. "She ought to remain at the palace. Our camp is too near the Fords and there will be archers stationed in the trees on the bluff – I will not have her exposed to warfare!"

"You know the lady, Legolas. If you leave her behind she will simply follow at her own pace. Far better she travel with you in safety. Once there, she can be sent to Radagast – he will keep her out of trouble."

Legolas shook his head. "I do not feel easy about this. I fear she will do as she pleases, wizard or no."

"It may be that Treebeard and his fellows will join us in battle – they are impervious to the weapons of the enemy. But we will send Rebecca to the Entwives in their recovery. She will be well-protected there."

That afternoon the companies took their leave. Aragorn helped Rebecca onto Alfirin. "I shall hold a feast at Minas Tirith upon our return – to celebrate our victory and our kinship."

She faltered. "You mean to announce me, then?"

Aragorn smiled. "Of course, muinthêlmin – I intend that all of Middle Earth know my pride." He paused, looking over at Legolas who was in discussion with Gimli. "You have not spoken of this with your beloved?"

"My…what?"

Aragorn laughed. "Sister, one deeply in love can easily spot another."

Rebecca blushed but denied nothing. "We have not spoken of the matter."

Aragorn frowned. "Do not tarry on my account, Rebecca."

"No, my lord, but… this is not the time – we have so much yet to do…"

He kissed her hand. "Be well, muinthêlmin. We shall soon meet again."

At that moment, Legolas was warning Gimli to be cautious.

'Think my folk would remain idle with hammer and chisel in Minas Tirith when there was a battle to be fought?" exclaimed the Dwarf. "We will defend Ithilien's northern borders more heartily than its native sons!"

"Be careful and be well," replied Legolas, giving the reluctant Dwarf a fond embrace.

"I need you to stand beside me at my wedding feast."

Gimli nodded towards Rebecca. "Be sure to propose ere long, Elf. A lady never wishes to be kept waiting."

"Aye," agreed Legolas, watching Faramir take leave of an anxious Éowyn. "A lady should not be kept waiting."

The companies parted, Aragorn with his host to the north. Gamling led the Rohirrim traveling south, while the archers of Emyn Arnen marched behind their prince and the king of Rohan. Rebecca felt safe between the two armies, yet she was unsettled. "There are so many in this company," she remarked. "Do you fear such opposition?"

"In war it is always better to be over-prepared," remarked Haldir. "In the last double-onslaught, there was dire need for many."

"Will they be ready to the north?" she asked.

"I hope so," replied Éomer. "They go to battle with a legion of Dwarves. There are none hardier."

"Or foolhardier," noted Legolas. "I hope Gimli does not lead them rashly, or take too many chances himself."

"Aragorn is a sensible captain, as are Imrahil and Faramir. The Dwarves will be most needed against the double-handled mattocks of the East – their wielders are stout and strong of limb. They have been formidable foes in many battles."

"In Eärnil's battle it was the north that fell first. But you will be able to march to their aid if need be. The mûmakil will not advance."

"Aiwë, you are not going to the Fords. You will go immediately to the Entwives."

"Of course," she murmured, but the look in her eyes troubled him.

On the third day they neared the bluffs. "My knights will make camp near the river, before the Haudh en Gwanur," announced Éomer.

"I will stay with you, if I may, so that I will hear the approach of the mûmakil," Rebecca said.

"You will do no such thing," interrupted Legolas, his face reddening. "We have discussed this on more than one occasion – you go straight to Radagast and the Entwives!"

Éomer nodded. "He is right, Rebecca. War is no place for a …"

She turned to him, indignant. "Don't you dare say it! After all your sister did on the fields of Pelannor! War is no place for _anyone_, and if I can prevent it…"

"By being flattened by mûmakil? Aiwë, I forbid you to go near the Fords!"

Rebecca took a steadying breath before replying. "My love, I have a destiny to fulfill."

"Yes, and it is with _me_. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself when our armies can fight this battle."

"Lives will be lost – many, on both sides. I am not naïve," she said, halting his next words. "I realize there will be fighting. But there will be so much _less_, if I can but sing."

"Your songs are for the Entwives, Aiwë, and to them you will go."

Éomer agreed. "I do not doubt you mean well, Rebecca. But you must listen to reason."

"The cessation of war is part of the Nestad, and I am its champion. Can you not see this?"

"I only see the horror of battle and you in its midst," replied the king. "It cannot be, Rebecca."

She fell silent, which concerned Legolas more than her speech. She remained so until they reached the camp of the Elves.

Éomer and his knights went on to set up near the Fords. Tessel greeted the archers and directed his kinfolk to their quarters. A meal had been laid out for them, but Rebecca disappeared into the woods. Legolas sought and found her standing above the river, on Amon Thoron.

"Do you remember this place?" he asked softly, laying a hand upon her shoulder.

"Aye. We watched the stars together."

"I named you Aiwë." He turned her to face him. "My love for you was born that night." He kissed her. She did not resist, but she did not participate. He sighed. "You are angry with me."

"No," she replied, entering his embrace. "But I cannot make you heed me."

He clutched her tightly. "Not if your ideas will rob me of you."

She placed her hands upon his chest and pushed him away so she could see his face. "And what of you? What if I should lose _you_ in this battle?"

He gently caressed her cheek. "That is not possible, Aiwë. I will not leave you."

He kissed her deeply and this time she responded. He nuzzled her neck, whispering, "Aiwë amin." He felt an impatient desire to lower her upon the grass, feel her flush against him, beneath him.

His ardor was arrested when he heard a voice upon the path. "Damn," he muttered as he released her.

Tessel entered the clearing. He apologized, aware that his interruption was not welcome.

"Éomer king seeks you, my lord. I thought I had better find you ere he did," he added sheepishly.

Legolas nodded. "My thanks for that," he replied rather huskily.

As they followed the silver beam of Tessel's lantern, Legolas held her hand along the path. He squeezed it tightly as they entered the camp and whispered, "You are to go to the Entwives – Tessel shall be your guide."

Seated beneath the boughs were Éomer and Gamling. Haldir stood apart, staring at the camp's fire.

"I shall stay, with your permission, my lords."

Legolas frowned. "Aiwë, I do not think that is…"

"I only wish to hear your plans, ere I travel to Radagast. He will want news, after all," she replied smoothly.

"Well…"

"Let her stay, Legolas," said Éomer. "When she hears our strategies she will have no wish to face any behemoths."

Rebecca listened intently as they debated their maneuvers, knowing then her own plan of action. Of this she said nothing, merely excused herself for much-needed slumber.

As she rose to leave, Legolas reminded her firmly, "At dawn you travel north with Tessel."

"Of course," she murmured.

He watched her as she went, amazed that he could love her so much yet trust her so little in this matter.

_Things Elvish:  
Saes_ – please  
_Amin_ - mine  
_Le anon meleth nín_ – I give my love to you  
_Meleth nín_ – my love

**_  
_****Next: BATTLE**


	17. Battle

**BATTLE**

The day dawned brightly, belying the devilry in its keeping. Treebeard and a company of Ents arrived in the early morning hours and took up positions on the field with the Rohirrim.

On the bluff, Legolas and Haldir had stationed their archers. As Legolas surveyed their fortifications, he spied Tessel climbing the ladder of the flet. "She is gone!" he cried in consternation. "She has taken Alfirin – I know not where she rides!"

"_Rhach_! She has not gone to the Entwives, of that we can be sure!" He slung his bow across his back. "Join Haldir here and take command – I must go down to the Fords!" he said as he descended the ladder.

With mounting apprehension he raced to the field by the river, where the Rohirrim gathered in rows behind their king. Treebeard stood with Éomer, his Ents at their posts along the banks of the Poros. "Have you seen Aiwë?" he called out as he joined them.

Éomer removed his helm. "She has not gone to the Entwives with Tessel?"

"No! She has eluded him – she must be here somewhere," he replied, scanning the lines of Rohirrim with desperate eyes. "Damn, I _knew_ I should have sent her off last night!"

"Hum-hoom!" thundered Treebeard. "She is _far _too hasty!"

They were interrupted by the clarion cries of horns that pierced the morning's calm. Across the river they saw the Haradrim approach, war towers upon the backs of mûmakil swinging their trunks to the sky. Ponderously they neared the crossing. Their leader plunged into the river, the others following suit. The Rohirrim gripped their reins in anticipation, waiting for the command to advance. Their restless horses pawed the ground.

Behind the front line, Rebecca sat astride Alfirin, garbed in the pilfered armor of a knight of Rohan, as Éowyn had been on the field of Pelennor. She heard the drumbeats, the harsh Haradrim chant of war. For a moment the blood froze in her veins. Where would she find the courage to face these foes? She reminded herself that the mûmakil were not enemies, then closed her eyes and summoned all her strength, picturing Legolas – his strong arms around her, his eager kisses. She would live to hold him again. Taking a deep breath she spurred Alfirin forward past the knights before her.

Her horse glowed silver-grey in the sunshine before stepping into the long shadows cast by the towering mûmakil. Rebecca tossed aside her helm. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, curling in the day's humidity. She stood in the stirrups and shouted a warning, "_Daro_!"

The lead mûmakil paused and cocked his head at the lone rider in his path, who began to sing in words he understood. As he listened intently, archers perched atop him strung their bows and aimed them but held their fire in fear as a strange light pulsated about her. The mûmakil driver commanded at them to shoot but they refused, crying out that she was a demon and would curse them. Elves on the bluff trained their arrows upon the Haradrim. Éomer clenched his spear, ready to charge. Legolas blanched and raced to her side.

An eerie silence descended upon the field, punctuated only by Rebecca's song. She dismounted and handed Alfirin over to Legolas; crooning softly, she waded into the river until she was able to reach out and gently touch the leader's painted trunk. At that the driver swore angrily and yanked the reins but the mûmakil would have none of it. Instead, he caressed her outstretched hand and promptly sat down in the river, tipping driver and tower over his back. Surprised soldiers tumbled into the water. The mûmakil gave a mighty trumpeting cry and, as one, the other mûmakil sat back on their haunches.

The spell was broken. Haradrim archers fumbled in the river. Éomer raised his spear and led the Rohirrim, charging the fallen enemy.

"Do not harm their steeds!" cried Rebecca as the knights rode by her.

Legolas grabbed her arm and forced her to mount Alfirin. "Get behind their lines – ride to my camp!" he shouted as arrows flew about them. She hesitated in the stirrups, reluctant to leave the mûmakil. "You are to _stay_ there, Aiwë!" he commanded angrily.

"I have no time to argue – promise me!"

She felt the heat of his wrath. "But…"

"_Promise me_!" he repeated harshly.

"I promise, but…"

He was gone, diving into the fray and rapidly firing arrows.

Despite the mutiny of the mûmakil, the Haradrim fought fiercely. Rebecca could hear arrows swishing past her as she rode through the Rohirrim like a salmon upstream.

Dismayed by the cries of battle, she looked helplessly down from the bluff to the violence below. She had promised she would remain in the camp, but she refused to leave her vantage point when an attendant hurried to her to take Alfirin. "But my lady, you must not stand here – you are too vulnerable!"

She would not budge. The fighting raged on. She scanned the chaos in the river, praying to Ilúvatar to protect her love.

Some time passed before a lone rider on a black steed made his way up the bluff. "My lady!" shouted the Haradrim ambassador. "You Elf is wounded – he is asking for you! He sends you this, a token of his love!"

She seized the outstretched mithril ring, eyes wide with fear. "Where is he? I must go to him at once!"

"Come with me – I will take you to him!"

He pulled her to sit before him on the great stallion. She was too rash in her consternation; she did not consider why this representative of the enemy would call upon her aid. They had ridden some way along the Poros when she felt something pulled tight around her throat. Clawing with both hands, she pulled ineffectively. Before her eyes burst a hundred stars. Then her arms fell limp and she slumped into oblivion.

Evening found a weary Legolas dragging himself from the river, bloody with the day's carnage. Éomer rode to him; his knights had rounded up those soldiers who were yet living and had not deserted the battlefield. Among the hostages were men of Harad and Khand, some fearful, others defiant, all exhausted. The riderless mûmakil were cooling themselves in the water. Some had climbed the riverbanks and were lazily grazing on the grassy plain, gently tended by those Ents who knew the ways of the Kelvar.

Legolas mounted behind Éomer and they returned to the camp to discuss their next steps. Tessel and Haldir met them there. Legolas cast his eyes about. "Where is Aiwë?"

"We took her horse, my lord, but she remained here, looking out over the fords."

"She isn't here now!" he cried frantically, stating the obvious. "Search the camp – find her!"

The Elves searched the southern camp of Ithilien from river to treetop into the morning hours. Legolas paced restlessly in its main clearing. He was so overwrought that he did not hear the approach of Dolressa as she laid a hand upon his arm. "Hîr-amin, you are troubled."

He recognized her and scowled. "Lady, what are you doing here? You should be under the protection of your king."

She lowered her eyes. "I prefer your protection, meleth nín."

Legolas flinched at the words, so recently spoken by Rebecca. "You have no place here. Return at once to Emyn Arnen."

She shook her head firmly. "I will not leave you thus."

"Aiwë is missing," he replied shortly. "I must concentrate on finding her."

She tossed her silvery hair. "A child is wont to go missing. You should not concern yourself so."

Angrily he grabbed her wrist. He noticed she did not wear his ring. A deep sense of foreboding seized him. "You say you will not give me up, lady. Where is your ring?"

He saw the look in her eyes; he knew her too well to miss their expression. "What have you done, Dolressa? What do you know of this matter? Tell me!"

She pulled her arm away. "I have no idea where the chit is! I suspect she has abandoned you for another; I knew she would! You will see – she is not worthy of your love, but I am!" She turned on her heel and disappeared into the camp.

His fury was left unspoken as Radagast hurried into the clearing. With him was Oromírië, who bowed her graceful head as the wizard introduced them. "I see the mûmakil below, herded by the Ents. Where is my Rebecca? Why is she not among them?"

"She is missing!" lamented Legolas. "She should have gone to you in Lossarnach!"

"We came after Treebeard – Oromírië would not remain idle with the Entwives when Bregalad was facing danger and there were mûmakil to be seen. What has happened to my Rebecca?"

Legolas raised his hands in despair. "We cannot find her! If not to you, I know not where she went!"

"I will call upon the ravens. They are a noble line, long established in these lands. They will search for her and send word to Aragorn in the north."

A glossy black raven found the King as he sat with his captains upon a rugged outcropping overlooking the Dagorlad. The plain was strewn with the bodies of Men and Dwarves; most of the corpses were of the Emperor's army, garbed in golden armor. Eagles had joined the battle and left many an Easterling dead upon the field. Gondor had prevailed, the East was routed.

The raven alit stiffly on a large boulder before them and bowed surprisingly to Gimli. "Greetings, Gimli, son of Gloín. I am Carc, named for my grandsire. My father Roäc served your sires of the Lonely Mountain. Now it is time for me to do you a service. I bring you tidings from Radagast the Brown."

Carc spoke to them of they victory at the Fords and the unfortunate disappearance of 'She who speaks to Kelvar.'

"I will bear you south," suggested Meneldor. "I am swiftest of my kin – we shall arrive at the Fords ere night falls."

Aragorn graciously accepted the eagle's offer. "Faramir, Imrahil – I charge you with our treaty here. Deal justly but fairly with our prisoners. Come, Gimli, we fly south!"

Aragorn and Gimli found a somber camp upon arrival. Radagast, as was his custom in complete dismay, paced restlessly. Legolas seemed as if he had been pierced by many arrows, so acute was his misery. Haldir looked no better.

"There is no sign? The ravens have not found her?" asked Aragorn anxiously.

"No, sire," replied Tessel. He looked with concern to his prince. "We have pulled all the bodies from the Poros onto the plain. She is not among them."

"Thank Eru," sighed Gimli with relief.

Legolas put his head in his hands. "But where _is_ she? No one in our camp knows where she has gone; she did not return to the mûmakil nor did she go to the Entwives. The ravens have searched in vain all day…"

They heard a deep rumbling along the path. Treebeard returned to them, having aided the Rohirrim in securing their prisoners. In his strong grip was a frightened Haradrim archer. "Hoom. I bring you news which must be dealt with hastily," he spoke in uncharacteristic brevity. "Speak, villain!" he boomed, tossing the soldier to his knees.

The terrified man blanched before the stern gazes of his enemies, unable to utter a word.

Aragorn stood. "Do you speak Westron?"

"A little," stammered the soldier haltingly.

"Then come and sit. You are weary with toil. Take some bread and wine."

The man was amazed at this civility and stood frozen as marble.

"Please," continued Aragorn. "We will not harm you, but we must hear you out. What is your name?"

"Herunor."

"Then, Herunor, sit and be refreshed."

Distrustful, he gingerly sat amongst his foes before assuring himself of safety. This done, he fell upon the bread and wine like a man long starved.

"Tell them what you told the horselords," growled Treebeard.

Herunor looked at Aragorn. "Our man to you – he was on horse."

Aragorn frowned. "Your man – the ambassador? Is it Lokirim of whom you speak?"

Herunor nodded. "Yes. Had woman on black horse."

Legolas stood eagerly. "A woman? What did she look like?"

"In enemy armor. Hair like so," he indicated with his hands.

"It is Aiwë! Where – where were they going?"

The soldier pointed south. "Home."

Legolas clenched his fists. "He has taken her south!" he cried. "We must give chase before it is too late!"

Aragorn laid a hand upon his arm. "Calm yourself, mellon. Harad is vast; we must not rush off without a plan."

"We will take counsel," declared a deep voice.

Tom Bombadil, sporting his feathered hat and bright yellow boots, stepped into the clearing. With him were the sons of Elrond. A shaggy grey dog was at Elrohir's side.

"I have a tale I must now tell…" began Tom.

_Things Elvish__  
Rhach_ – curse  
_Daro_ – halt  
_Hîr-amin_ – my lord  
_meleth nín_ – my love****

****

**_Next: Captivity_**


	18. Captivity

**CAPTIVITY**

It was a long dusty ride as Lokirim made his way south. Each time he stopped at an oasis, he watered his horse then gave the groggy Rebecca bread and water laced with a powerful sedative.

The journey was a blur to her. She drowsed under the hot sun, his strong arms about her holding the reins. She awoke in the evening. Lokirim gave her a chunk of bread. She ate hungrily, then looked at her captor. "Where are you taking me? What is it you want?"

Lokirim sneered. "I have no interest in you, lady, save what you will buy me. A magnificent price has been set on your head."

"By whom?" she puzzled as he handed her a canteen. She drank thirstily and lapsed into sleep.

The following afternoon they halted at another oasis. The air was perfumed by a large grove of magnolia trees. As Lokirim tended the horse, Rebecca spied a nightingale singing in the branches of a tree laden with blossoms. Quickly she plucked one and whispered hurried instructions. The bird took the bloom in its beak and soared into the sky, heading north.

Erelong Lokirim returned and tossed her a piece of bread. After she had finished he handed her the canteen. Reluctantly she drank, knowing the water would cause her to sleep, but her thirst gave no quarter.

Later she awoke to the coolness of evening. She saw the stars wheeling in their courses above and was able to discern from their positions that she had traveled many leagues from Ithilien. The constellations were strange to her. The horse halted before a large tent in a strange camp set amidst the magnificent ruins of a city long dead. The scent of pine and magnolia mingled in the humid air.

Lokirim dismounted and dragged her roughly from the horse. She stumbled as he pulled her within.

"Ah, ambassador. How nice of you to come."

This was spoken by a man in the shadows, seated upon a golden chair.

"It has been a hot journey, and a long one," replied Lokirim, thrusting her before him. "I have brought you your prize."

"Indeed. Please, have some wine. Refresh yourself."

Lokirim accepted a goblet, downing it in one quaff. "I would prefer my fee. Now, if you please."

The man laughed and tossed a bag bulging with golden coins upon the table. "Are you sure you do not wish for position? Your warlord has certainly perished in battle."

"I shall not replace him," replied Lokirim grimly. "Lordship over Harad is useless. Gondor will claim it shortly."

"Ah yes, Gondor. Well, I have given you enough gold to settle in style, wherever you choose. Go now and live to your liking."

Lokirim bowed and departed without a glance at his hostage.

That lady pressed against the rough, taut wool of the tent.

"Please, lady, join me," invited her new captor.

She eyed the proffered chair. "No."

"Lady, I beg you, sit." The speaker stood and walked into the dim lamplight. He was an old man, long-bearded and robed in black. She looked hard at him. He seemed like her Uncle, yet not so. There was a light in his eyes which terrified her. He gestured to her chair and repeated, "Sit. Have some wine. Be assured, you are safe."

Exhausted, she sat and watched him carefully as she sipped the wine. He toyed with a large bronze medallion upon his chest.

"Have no fear. I welcome you as my honored guest."

She set down her goblet. "A guest is not forcibly removed from her companions."

"Ah. Unfortunate, that." He sat again upon the golden throne. "I fear you would not have accepted my invitation."

"Who are you?"

"I am your ardent admirer, Rebecca. I hope we shall become friends."

"You have not told me your name, sir."

"For now, you may call me Pallando. In time, you will know me as your master."

She recoiled. "A friend calls no one master."

"Yes, but you shall, nevertheless. You see, I bring you greatness."

"I have no desire for that. I only want to be returned to…"

"To those you love? Ah, Rebecca, you know not what I offer you! With me you shall shine as the stars."

"I have no wish to do so. Why have you brought me here?"

Her host poured himself a goblet from an ornately jeweled carafe. "I have brought you here to learn, my dear. I am a wizard, an able teacher."

She took a deep drink for courage. "Then, Pallando, I ask you. Why would a friend need to exert force to gain my company?"

"Rebecca, you come from those with small minds and little ambition. It is time for you to broaden your horizons."

"I do not take your meaning, sir."

"It is simple and it is this. You must be granted the freedom to develop your full potential. You need an advisor."

She frowned. "I _have_ advisors."

He laughed scornfully. "Oh yes, and such a lot! Radagast the bird-tamer and Aragorn the simple. No, lady, I mean to direct you more purposefully."

She stood, angry. "Do not slander those I love!"

He sighed. "Dear lady, sit. I do not seek to slander anyone. I only mean to tell you that with me you will attain more than you could possibly dream."

She sat and stared at the wizard across the table. "Pallando. Radagast has spoken of you. His words were not flattering."

As she looked into his eyes she saw that two distinct lights shone within – one tentative, the other manic. The first struggled for expression but the crazed visage soon triumphed. "Why should I concern myself with Radagast's opinions? I have no troubles. You are mine and my worries are few."

"I belong to another. You have no place with me."

The wizard sneered. "Ah, your pretty Elvish princeling. He is nothing to you now. He was a ragtag archer in Gandalf's train when last I saw him, and I doubt if time has improved him."

Rebecca looked at him sharply. "But _you_ have never seen him, sir."

"One Elf is the same as the next."

"No. That is not true. You have never met my love. Only Gandalf and Radagast claim his friendship." She looked intensely into his eyes for many moments. At last she stated firmly, "You are not Pallando."

"What care you who I am? All you need to know is that I am your master."

She focused on him, watched the shades of expression flit across his features – now dark, now fearful, now authoritative. There were two feä in this one wizard. How it was possible she did not know, but she felt instinctively that she wanted to see the more reticent of the two.

"Lady, let us not quarrel. We are kindred, both wearing the handiwork of the Valar. Sauron made my medallion – he was a craftsman of Aulë, you know. But come, perhaps you recall a distant day. We met long ago, upon the Great Road."

She cast her memory back in time, to an encounter with a wizard clad in filthy robes and his cringing attendant. Her eyes flew wide. "Saruman?"

He grinned. "How sweet – you remember me."

"I don't understand – you were killed in the Shire. I heard the tale from the Hobbits who witnessed…"

"My murder? Yes, the treacherous worm destroyed my physical form, but my feä is of the strongest steel. Pallando graciously accepted my company and here I am."

"But how?"

"This medallion unites my feä with Pallando's mind. A convenient situation for the present."

"But it is a half-life, not entirely your own," she observed.

Pallando's face twisted with Saruman's sneer. "With my power it is _I_ who am the stronger. Pallando is but a shade in _my_ greater sun."

She searched his eyes, catching a glimmer of protest from the host wizard. To him she appealed. "Surely you do not wish to live in the shadows, Pallando! You must have dreams, wishes of your own…"

"He does _not_!" shouted Saruman. "Our desires are as one, our purpose is the same."

"I do not believe you. You are lost to all decency, sir, but Pallando…"

"Served Sauron ere I came to his rescue," snapped Saruman. "Do not give him credit for anything but prostrating himself before his masters."

"It is the Valar who are the masters, and they are but servants of Ilúvatar."

"Pallando and I, we are strangers to the Valar, but well-acquainted with their plans. I assure you, lady, you will never sing for them."

She stood, hands on her hips. "Even _you_ cannot hold me captive forever, whatever your powers."

He laughed. "Can't I? Even if the survival of those you love depends on yours?"

"Do not threaten me in such a fashion, villain. They will come to my aid!"

"Such spirit!" he sneered. "Yet you hold so many foolish ideas, Rebecca. You believe in the Nestad, Aiwendil's time to shine. Bah! All he can do is twitter foolishly with the birds!"

She flushed with anger. "Don't you _dare _insult my Uncle!"

"Idiots all, including Elrond, your true sire."

Her fury turned to pallor. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything about you – your lineage, your affection for Kelvar, your foolish attachment to that archer. I am Saruman the Wise" he crowed, rising. He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes with avarice. "Best to forget all of that now. You are the prize of Saruman!"

"I will never aid you, whether Pallando or Saruman! Your ideas defy the Nestad to which I am bound."

The wizard snorted. "Your bonds belong to me, Rebecca. The sooner you accept this, the better for us all."

"Sir, I beg you – return me to my people! I do not belong here."

"Your people. You call them good, but what of others? Are there not honorable men in Harad or Khand? Are they not loyal to their countries, their kin? Is not loyalty an admirable quality?"

"Indeed, sir, but greed is not. Why else do they invade the lands of others?"

He scoffed. "Has not your brother done the same? What of the treaty he made with the Corsairs of Umbar?"

"Pirates who raided up and down the coast?" she cried angrily. "Even these he dealt with fairly, granting them their freedom in exchange for their pledge to abandon warfare."

"Your love of kin is charming, Rebecca. It shows a valor that I find attractive. But you must broaden your mind. As the Eilenäer, you must deal fairly with all."

She shook her head. "All will be fairly treated by Ilúvatar."

"Yes, but won't his appointed Eilenäer do the same? Will you judge impartially? Is not mercy the very heart that tempers judgment? Do you not advocate forgiveness?"

She hesitated. "Forgiveness and justice are not strangers. But one must repent to merit the former."

"Yes, but repent for what? For following the dictates and customs of your people, the will of your rulers? Where is there a difference between a soldier of Harad or of Gondor? Both obey their orders."

"Their motivations are opposed – offense and defense."

"Can you really judge that, Rebecca? Should not either position be forgiven?"

She put her fingers to her temples, shut her eyes tight. "You are false, sir, despite the smoothness of your voice. You will not persuade me as you did others before me. I will hear no more."

Pallando sighed. "You are weary after your long journey," he said softly. "Please, rest now. No harm shall come to you."

She knelt before him, imploring. "Let me go, Pallando! Whatever Saruman says, misery shall be my portion – and yours! – if I remain."

He laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Rest now, lady. Pallando shall not harm you."

So saying he left the tent. Rebecca sank to the floor, pounding her fists in frustration and weeping into a heap of embroidered silk pillows.

Once outside, Pallando motioned for the guards, instructing them to allow no entry or exit. Then, in the dark under the stars, Pallando heard Saruman's laughter. "Rest now, lady. Pallando shall not harm you," he mimicked. "Honestly, Pallando, you are a foolish gallant. Nevertheless, your foppery may be the key to her acquiescence. You may succeed for us in spite of yourself!"

He sat upon a broken marble column. "She must be treated with respect, Master. She is the Eilenäer."

"I do not care if she is Ilúvatar himself, so long as she answers to _me_. She will be mine as surely as you are."

While Saruman continued his tirade, Pallando bristled. Once he had seen Saruman as his salvation; he was beginning to change his mind. Rebecca had spoken kindly to him. What if gallantry could win her affections? Why would he need Saruman, should the Eilenäer care for him? Perhaps he could even win passage to the West…

"PALLANDO!"

His ability to hold his own thoughts was waning; Saruman could intercept him very quickly now. He winced in pain. "Yes, Master?"

"Did you hear me? I said we should return to her upon the hour. We must keep her off balance, vulnerable."

"Of course, Master," he replied, but a seed of rebellion had taken root.

Nor did Pallando guess his master's intent. Saruman's general disdain of Pallando was turning to something fouler. He had played upon Pallando's lust, encouraging him to bed the woman of Harad and the East, counting upon this growing appetite to come into play in retaining Rebecca. But he felt Pallando's motivation shifting; instead of carnality he was bordering on tenderness. Saruman frowned. Pallando must be gotten rid of, and soon. He crowed as he sensed the proximity of victory. Once he had conquered her resistance, Rebecca would don the medallion herself. At last he could dispense with the sniveling Pallando and she would never participate in the Second Song of the Ainur. She would be truly his.

_**Next: Bombadil's Tale**_


End file.
